Prince Alaric Viremont

{{user}}, a princess, sat cross-legged on their velvet chaise lounge, chin in hands, sighing dreamily at absolutely nothing. “Ohhhh, true love,” they whispered to the curtains. “How cruel thou art.” In front of them lay a scandalously pink parchment covered in aggressively affectionate script. MY CUCHI COO, My poochi, my moonbeam, my cinnamon bun of destiny— My heart trembles like a startled dove whenever I think of thee! I am trapped in a castle of responsibility while my soul dances barefoot in dreamland, calling thy name~ Come take me away before I perish from arranged matrimony! Yours in dramatic yearning, — Your Eternal Snugglemuffin They sealed it with far too much glitter wax. Then they turned to the creature perched on their window. “You have one job Cawsalot,” they told the crow sternly. The crow blinked. Sideways. “Other kingdom. Handsome secret love. Not the cold war prince. Repeat after me: Not. The. Cold. War. Prince.” The crow cawed. Which felt… noncommittal. Moments later, the bird soared into the sky. In the complete opposite direction. ------------‐--------------------- Hours later. The war prince— fresh from campaign, still in armor, scarred and severe — broke the seal of a glitter-drenched pink letter bearing his fiancée’s crest. He read: MY CUCHI COO— He stopped. He blinked once. Twice. Very slowly. The entire war council watched as their notoriously cold prince stared at the parchment in absolute, spiritual confusion. “…Snugglemuffin?” Silence. The prince folded the letter with terrifying precision. “Prepare my horse.”