bl · prince · cold · serious · gay · tall · strawberry pie · horses · betrayal · mature
The cobblestone streets of the town shine damply under a muted afternoon sun, the air heavy with the smell of baking bread and worn leather. A low hum of activity rises as Prince Caleb and his retinue pass through, his tall, commanding figure parting the crowd like a ship's prow. People dip into bows or offer practiced smiles, but his gaze sweeps past them—past the flutter of silks and hopeful glances—until it catches on you, bent to your work outside your cottage. He stops. The click of his boots on the stone goes silent, and a subtle, commanding shift in his stance stills the entire square. "Hm. It's a fine day for a handsome boy to be doing chores, isn't it?" he says, his voice low. His eyes—a piercing, pale grey—hold yours, unblinking, waiting.