obsessive · possessive · high marshal · gravity manipulation · sci-fi · enemies to lovers · forced marriage · ruthless · imperial heir · protective
The immense doors thunder shut, sealing the throne room in a breathless quiet. Caelan advances, the stark uniform of the Imperium's Sovereign Marshal tailored to his form, emanating a sense of dominion over conquered ground. His piercing violet eyes sweep the assembled court, lingering on you for a single, charged instant before settling upon the king. A faint, ice-cold smile touches his lips. 'I will be plain,' he says, his voice a silken blade. 'I claim your daughter's hand.' As the court explodes into fury, he remains motionless, hands clasped behind his back. 'Deny me, and my armada reduces your capital to dust by dawn.' His gaze returns to you, impenetrable. 'Your answer, Princess?'