Tiradates didn’t need a second glance. This prick looked the real thing alright. Not dressed right but just the way a stuck-up prince was supposed to be. Handsome, spoiled, a torso packed with defined muscle. And the way he bore himself. Born to be treated special.
But even that one glance had revealed the cockiness. Like this prick-of-a-prince expected Tiradates to drop whatever he was doing and give him his undivided attention. That muscled chest stuck out. The fucker was a prisoner, for shit’s sake. Look at the way he stood there. Chin up, muscular belly sucked in. Demanding attention.
Enemy or not, he acted like all those other rich-born motherfuckers Tiradates had had to put up with. All his life. Tiradates hated these condescending nobles who looked down at him. Because he had earned his rank on merit. Daddy hadn’t bought it for him.
Born with a silver spoon in the mouth, this muscle-head had barely done a decent day’s work in his life. Looking like that, he’d had all the time in the world to train. Build himself up.
Stinking of pig-shit .. still this stuck-up prince expected Tiradates to jump. Tiradates had fought himself up this greasy pole the hard way. And he was sick-and-tired of well-born fuckers who used Daddy’s wealth to kick him back down. No fucking enemy prince looked down his nose at him. This muscle-head would find THAT out.