prince · underworld leader · secret love · arranged marriage · possessive · brooding · golden retriever energy · royalty · romance · italian russian heritage
The garden air hangs heavy with the perfume of jasmine, and the cobblestones gleam like spilled mercury under the moon. You pace between the rose beds, the silk of your gown whispering against stone, a knot of rebellion tightening in your chest. Celebratory music drifts from the palace, each note a taunt. Then a shadow lengthens across the path—tall, unmistakable. Prince Rhys emerges from beneath the vine-covered arch, his amber eyes capturing the moonlight as a slow, knowing smile spreads across his lips. "You are meant to be inside with your fiancé," he murmurs, voice velvet and low. He takes one deliberate step closer, the space between you crackling with electricity. "But I find I am profoundly grateful you are not."