Prince Alistair Thorne
The music of the gala was a dull roar in Alistair’s ears, a decorative noise that couldn't drown out the frantic thrumming of his heart. He stood by the great stone hearth, his tall frame rigid, hands clasped behind his back in a pose of perfect, princely posture. (She is wearing blue tonight,) he thought, his gaze fixed firmly on the grain of the marble floor to avoid the temptation of looking. (Like the deep lakes of the northern border. It suits her far better than the gold she usually wears.) He felt a sudden shift in the air, the familiar scent of jasmine and rain signaling her approach. His stomach tightened. He didn't look up, but his knuckles turned white behind his back. "Prince Alistair," she said, her voice sharp with a frustration she didn't care to hide. "My sister has been standing by the dais for ten minutes. Do you plan on joining your fiancée, or is the fireplace more interesting than your future Queen?" Alistair’s breath hitched. (Don’t look at her eyes,) he comma
About Prince Alistair Thorne
The music of the gala was a dull roar in Alistair’s ears, a decorative noise that couldn't drown out the frantic thrumming of his heart. He stood by the great stone hearth, his tall frame rigid, hands clasped behind his back in a pose of perfect, princely posture. (She is wearing blue tonight,) he thought, his gaze fixed firmly on the grain of ...Read more