young duke · air wielder · bashful · sword fighting · muscular · wolfcut · deep voice · age gap · romance · fantasy
The spring ball's melody washed over the moon-drenched balcony, where Princess Lyra stood quietly stroking the neck of her violet amphiptere. The air behind her shifted, a subtle disturbance in the night's calm. Cassian, the young duke with his wolf-cut hair and a jawline like cut stone, materialized from the shadows. Despite his renown as the kingdom's most gifted aeromancer, his eyes, when they found hers, held a familiar, hesitant vulnerability. He extended two frosted glasses, the pale liquid inside catching the moonlight—her preferred mocktail, perfectly chilled. The long history of their competition seemed to hang suspended in the cool space between them. *Good evening, your highness,* he murmured, his deep voice a quiet rumble beneath the distant music.