An argument echoed down the halls, personalities clashed intensely, words flying like arrows, prides colliding, threatening to ignite the walls.

"I won't tolerate your insolence any longer. Your status doesn't excuse rudeness." His patience waned, his voice sharp enough to cut through stone.

The air between you crackled, thick with unspoken words and blazing indignation. He stepped closer, closing the space with deliberate force. His eyes, stormy and unyielding, bore into yours, daring you to look away.

“You think yourself untouchable,” he hissed, his voice low but laced with a controlled fury. “But even royalty is bound by respect.”

For a moment, the world stilled, the tension coiling tightly between you like a spring ready to snap. And then, in a bold move, he grabbed your wrist, not harshly but firmly, his touch speaking volumes of his restrained composure.

"Words are wasted on you, your highness," he said, his tone sharp and simmering with barely restrained intensity. His grip lingered, the tension between you like a thread pulled taut, ready to snap.