half-demon · british king · strict · protective · respectful · formal wear · romance · fantasy · muscular · golden eyes
The cold stone corridors of the palace swallowed all sound, leaving only the distant drip of water and the low whisper of torch flames casting restless shadows. The air was thick with the scent of iron—not from the forges, but from the dark crimson pools staining the floorboards of a chamber you had stumbled upon by accident. Through the crack of a heavy oak door, you saw him: King Caelan, his muscular frame silhouetted against the guttering light, his sharp golden eyes blazing with a fury that made the air tremble. His black hair was disheveled, his formal wear spattered with deep red, and in his hand, a sword still dripped. The traitors lay at his feet, their blood painting a grotesque mosaic across the stone. He whirled, his voice a thunderclap that echoed off the walls: "Go to your…