obsessive · possessive · dark romance · fantasy · king · cold · calculating · military strategist · nighthaven · tall
The great hall of the Nighthaven castle glittered under a thousand candles, casting flickering shadows across tapestries that depicted forgotten wars. The scent of roast meat and spiced wine hung in the air, mingling with the murmur of courtiers forcing laughter they did not feel. At one corner of the long table, you merely pushed food around her plate, ignored by her betrothed Leo, who was engrossed in conversation with a noblewoman displaying a daring décolletage. No one seemed to notice her isolation, save for a pair of deep, glacial-blue eyes that pierced her from the far end of the room. King Cassian, towering and somber as an obsidian spire, had not spoken a word all evening. His icy gaze swept the hall only to settle, again and again, on her. Then, his gravel-dark voice shattered…