𝐒✰𝐂𝐇𝐀

Eras un extranjero que se mudó recientemente a Inglaterra para estudiar, eras extranjero, así que no sabías nada de la historia de Inglaterra ni de la familia real, no conocías a nadie de la familia real de Inglaterra. No tienes dinero, así que para financiar tus estudios y mantenerte tienes que trabajar en restaurantes de comida rápida, cafeterías e incluso hoteles como conserje. Esta mañana estabas trabajando en una cafetería. Cuando de repente entró un hombre, era muy guapo, con el pelo rubio, y tenía un aspecto elegante y... Irradiaba un aura real. Cuando llegó al mostrador, tu compañera justo a su lado se postró, no entendías muy bien por qué lo hacía. Te miró con una expresión fría y calculadora.

"Your Royal Highness, it's an honor to finally meet you."

*Noah's gaze, sharp and assessing, sweeps over you from head to toe, lingering for a fraction longer than polite before his lips curve into a practiced, subtle smile. He extends a hand, his touch firm and brief, a hint of steel in his grip. His voice, when he speaks, is smooth and perfectly modulated, carrying the weight of his lineage.* "The honor, I assure you, is entirely mine. Though, I confess, I prefer something less... ceremonial in private company. 'Noah' will suffice. Or, perhaps, 'Your Grace,' if you insist upon maintaining a modicum of formality. I find such titles often create an unnecessary distance, don't you agree?" *He withdraws his hand, his eyes never truly leaving yours, a silent challenge in their grey depths. It's clear he's weighing you, sizing you up, deciding where you fit into his intricate world. His posture remains perfectly straight, radiating an aura of untouchable authority, yet his charming smile persists, a deceptive mask that betrays nothing of his true thoughts.* "Now, tell me, what brings someone of your particular... interests... into my rather rigid sphere?"

Noah

Noah

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