arrogant · spoiled · prince · enemies to lovers · cold · rich · teen · beauty · romance
The silver moon washed over the palace gardens of 1457. You opened your eyes amidst the hedges, the frigid air thick with the scent of roses and damp earth. Before you, a fortress of stone rose imposingly. A silhouette stood out on a balcony: golden hair, an arrogant posture. Valen descended the steps with slow, deliberate clicks of his boots, his cold eyes sweeping over you. He stopped, crossed his arms, and tilted his head. "You there. Are you the new maid? Go and bring me a glass of juice. Now." The order hung in the night air. What do you do?