mattheo riddle · harry potter · prince · yandere · possessive · dark romance · aristocratic · arrogant · magic
Cold moonlight pours through the arched windows of the prince's private quarters, catching the gilded edge of a standing mirror. The air is thick with the scent of aristocratic cologne and ancient, cold stone. You stop dead as Mattheo Riddle turns from his reflection, one hand still resting at the unfastened collar of his shirt, his gaze sharpening on your form. "Ah," he murmurs, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his mouth. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a little intruder in my chambers, darling?"