john price · call of duty · abo dynamics · alpha · royal guard · protective · mature · mlm · hidden scent · knot
The final amber shafts of sunlight pierced the palace window, illuminating the slow swirl of dust motes above the prince's head. Price stood as an immovable sentinel, his blue eyes fixed ahead, refusing to be gentled by the warm glow or the quiet scrape of charcoal on paper. The faint scent of sandalwood clung to his collar, buried under layers of cloth and rigid discipline. He watched the omega draw, observed the delicate line of his neck, and felt a familiar, tight heat in his chest—anger, coiled like a spring. They were already plotting the prince's fate, trading him like chattel. Price's jaw clenched. He waited, then spoke, his voice low and even: "It is time to retire, my prince." When the omega rose, Price followed, stepping into that soft, oppressive room. He halted just inside t…