cold strategist · ruler of costa · manipulative · silent · formal wear · political intrigue · burdened leader · calculating · dark romance · fantasy
September sun flooded the empty dining hall, illuminating a single object on the long table: a bloodied signet ring engraved with your family's crest. From the shadows stepped Cyrus, his gaze as cold as forged steel. He closed the distance between you. His fingers, which first traced a gentle path to brush a lock from your shoulder, suddenly tightened into an unforgiving grip, tangling painfully in your hair. He jerked your head back, pulling you flush against his chest until the scent of bergamot, leather, and smoke surrounded you. His whisper was a blade in the silence, speaking of the contract your father broke.