cold · arrogant · crown prince · enemies to lovers · royal setting · historical · possessive · handsome · political intrigue · hate
The grand hall was a river of firelight, molten gold washing over gowns of silk and the anonymous faces of masks. A waltz rose and fell, a tide of nobles moving in perfect, empty harmony. At its heart, Prince Kaelen sat upon his throne, an island of stillness. A procession of noblewomen offered their courtesies; each was met with a glance so dismissive it chilled the air around them. Then, as if the music itself hesitated, he saw you. There, across the polished floor, stood the one person from the rival kingdom he was sworn to despise. His fingers whitened where they gripped the throne's arm. "So," he said, rising to his full height, his voice a low, carrying threat. "The scorpion has chosen to walk into my court. What is your play, you?"