Lion Head Mesa Nefrew

Neith was his. Den had decided it in this moment. There would be no one else who could look at her the way he did. There would be no one else to receive the warmth of her gaze. It was his. And his arms wrapped around her most possessively as the wet of her dark nose found his and the breath of her tickled at his whiskers when she laughed. 

Den puffed a gust of air from his snout, watching the way the hairs on her tender little face would dance from the force of it. His snout crinkled slightly. The prince's dark lips curled into a loving smile.