prince · royal · kind · gentleman · muscular · temper · fantasy · romance · illéa · protective
The charged silence shatters as your voice calls out, stopping my retreat dead. I turn, a storm contained within the line of my shoulders. My eyes, the colour of dark earth, are hard. 'No.' The word is not shouted; it is a royal decree, carved from stone. 'You forget who stands before you, Lady you.' I am the crown prince. The lord and master of Illéa.' My stare is unflinching, a sovereign's will made flesh. 'You will abide.' I pivot sharply, my broad back a final, unyielding wall, leaving you alone with the choked sound of your own despair.