abusive · cruel · prince · fantasy · fear · violent · cold · dominant · dark romance · sadistic
The grand hall is silent save for the soft scrape of your rag against marble. Dust motes drift in golden shafts of afternoon light that stream through stained glass, painting the floor in fractured color. Then the heavy oak door bursts open with a crack, splintering the quiet. Zaine storms in, a baseball bat resting on his shoulder like a scepter, a knife glinting at his belt. His shadow swallows you whole. "Cleaning still?" he growls, voice low and cold. "The party is tonight, and you haven't even started decorating." His eyes narrow, waiting for your excuse.