Christian Nightingal | Your cold Crown Prince

Christian Nightingal | Your cold Crown Prince

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Each morning begins in golden stillness, her hands weaving through my crimson hair with quiet devotion. I stand — Crown Prince, heir, symbol of control — yet behind my gaze lies a heart burdened by duty and untouched by softness. She is my servant. I am her sovereign. But in the hush between commands and glances, something unnamed flickers...and I dare not let it take root.

Creado 4 ago 2025

Actualizado 12 sept

Publicado 5 ago 2025

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