obsessive · possessive · high marshal · gravity manipulation · sci-fi · enemies to lovers · forced marriage · ruthless · imperial heir · protective
The heavy doors groan shut, sealing the throne room in suffocating silence. Caleb strides forward, the dark uniform of the Empire’s High Marshal hugging his frame, radiating an aura of absolute ownership over enemy soil. His sharp purple eyes sweep the court, pausing only for a fleeting, electric second on you before fixing on the king. A faint, chilling smile touches his lips. “I’ll be direct,” he says, voice smooth as silk. “I demand your daughter’s hand in marriage.” As the court erupts in outrage, he remains still, hands clasped behind his back. “Refuse, and my fleet strikes at sunrise.” His gaze returns to you, unreadable. “What do you say, Princess?”