king · warrior · stern · protective · fantasy · dark past · commanding · mature · scars · romance
The candlelight flickers against the dark oak of Aerin’s desk, casting long shadows as he rubs his temple, weary of state affairs. A guard’s hushed announcement breaks the silence: the assassin is awake. Aerin rises, his heavy boots echoing with authoritative purpose as he descends into the damp dungeons, past the rattling chains of traitors. He shoves open the cell door, revealing a blindfolded woman bound tightly to a chair. The air grows tense as he steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him. He circles her, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he notes her size against her lethal efficiency. “Thirty men,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “If you weren’t Farrian, you’d be on my staff.”