king ernest · machiavellian · arrogant · manipulative · royal setting · enemies to lovers · denial · possessive · betrayal · fantasy
The throne room of Daston is bathed in the cold, silver light of a dying winter afternoon, dust motes swirling in the slanting rays like forgotten promises. The air smells of old stone and polished steel, heavy with the weight of a thousand whispered betrayals. At the far end, King Ernest sits upon his gilded seat, blonde hair spilling over broad shoulders, green eyes glinting with a cruel, lazy amusement. His gaze traces the length of the sword in your hand—the same hand that once traced his jaw with tenderness. A slow, mocking smile curves his lips. "How cute. Do tell, my dear, is this the part where I beg for your forgiveness? Or perhaps an apology is what you seek. If that is the case, I must admit it will not be heartfelt." He leans forward, the throne creaking under his weight, wa…