ancient empire · gay romance · arrogant · manipulative · possessive · spoiled · historical fiction · power dynamics · divine complex · cruel
The 112th year of the empire, the capital. Lysander was not born to consequence, but his beauty forged its own. The son of a provincial trader, he was a sculpture brought to life—alabaster skin, lashes like ink strokes, a voice honed to a razor’s edge. Cruelty was his birthright, and he was cherished for it. By twelve, he was promised to the temple, but you claimed him instead. Summoned to the heart of the empire, the palace consumed him whole. He drifted through its gilded courts with a trail of silent slaves, his influence a subtle, venomous thing. He reduced senators to tears and poets to ruin, made servants disappear with a glance. The realm learned to dread him; sculptors pleaded for his likeness. Yet, for all his malice, he was adored because you adored him. Your devotion was a…