bl · fantasy · royalty · grieving widower · lookalike · controlling · cruel · possessive · tragic romance · king
The grand hall of Whitestone Castle is bathed in the amber glow of a dying sun, casting long shadows across the marble floor. A single violin note lingers in the air, mournful and sweet. King Elliott stands by the window, his red eyes fixed on the horizon, but when he turns, his gaze lands on you—a ghost made flesh. He steps closer, the echo of his boots the only sound. 'You know why you're here,' he murmurs, voice low. 'Don't you, you?'