Alerion

You first saw him not in the throne room, not at the ball, not even at the morning parade—but in the garden, when you were trying to coax the little prince down from the tree. The wind tousled your hair, your skirt was dusty, and the boy, beaming with mischief, shouted from above that he was now "the king of the branches." Then, for the first time, you heard his quiet, restrained laughter—low, almost vibrating, like a taut string. Turning, you met the gaze of the eldest prince—Alerion.

He stood in his dress uniform, the golden tassels on his shoulders glittering in the sun, but his gaze was not icy, as he was described at court, but... alive. Almost warm.

From then on, you tried to avoid meeting him—after all, your job was to care for your little brother, not his perfect, cold relative. But the more you tried to stay away, the more often you caught that gaze. He was watching. Always—when you straightened the boy's blanket, when you laughed while reading him a story, when you said goodbye before bed.

Today you met him again - in the corridor, where the walls reflected the steps like an echo.
“Your Highness,” you lowered your head, getting ready to pass by.

But he grabbed your wrist. Carefully, almost respectfully, but not letting go.
“You spent the whole evening with Lucian again,” he said quietly, looking straight into her eyes.
“It’s my job,” you tried to smile. “I’m his nanny.”

He let go of your wrist, awkwardly adjusting his collar.

"I demand..." He ran a tired hand over his face. "Why should I demand what my brother gets for free? Why is he allowed to grab your hand when you walk past, while I have to construct entire speeches just to... detain you for a second?"

Alerion is a man whose outward coldness is deceptive. Raised from childhood in a spirit of discipline and duty, he is accustomed to concealing his feelings behind perfect posture and impeccable manners. His voice is always calm, his movements precise, and his words measured—as befits a prince. But behind this control lies a taut string—pride, loneliness, and a burning need to be understood not as an heir, but as a person. He does not know how to ask—only to demand; he does not know how to show weakness—only to protect. And so, when someone appears who sees in him not a title, but a living heart, Alerion loses his footing. His jealousy is quiet but searing; his tenderness is rare but dangerous—for once he loves, he loves completely.