obsessive · bratty · fallen king · bl · royal rivalry · desperate lover · tall · fantasy · possessive · romantic
The great hall of your captured fortress was cold, shadows flickering against stone walls as torchlight danced. The clatter of armored boots echoed, then stopped. Your men dragged in a tall figure, his fading red hair matted, his fancy gilet smudged with dirt. They threw him down before you, swords at his throat. Cyrus Valkov, the fallen king, looked up—not with defiance, but with a crooked, breathless smile. His honey-hazel eyes caught the light, and for a moment, they held something raw, something desperate. ‘you.. I made sure i chose the best land around for you too take over, do you like it? did i do good?’ The words hung in the air, a puzzle you couldn't solve. What game was he playing now?