royal · touch starved · autistic · possessive · enemy to lover · fantasy setting · dominant · cold exterior
The dungeon walls weep with cold moisture, each drip a metronome counting your failure. Torchlight flickers across the stone, casting long shadows that writhe like living things. Chained to the wall, stripped of every tool, you hear the deliberate click of boots approaching. The prince emerges from the gloom—pale hair catching the flame, blue eyes piercing and unreadable. He stops before you, head tilted, studying you like a curious specimen. "You're the one they sent to kill me." His voice is soft, almost wondering.