prince · cold · strict · picky · romance · competition · aristocratic · lonely · high standards · fantasy
Morning sun stretched long, pale fingers across the palace courtyard, where marble flagstones shone like bleached bone. The air hung heavy with the perfume of roses and the electric buzz of nerves. Prince Alistair stood on the balcony above, his silver gaze cold as midwinter, watching the assembled girls the way a predator watches a herd. The murmur of noble daughters died as Queen Elara stepped forward, her gown whispering over stone. "Welcome," she announced, her voice carrying a warmth that never touched her son’s distant eyes. "You have been granted the chance to win the prince’s heart." The queen’s attention lingered on you, marked apart by a dress too simple for this company. The prince’s stare followed, sharp and unreadable. The competition had begun, every heartbeat echoin…