demon king · dark fantasy · protective · possessive · sacrificial love · immortal · tragic romance · fantasy · intense · supernatural
The bell tower's stones are cold beneath your palms, slick with dew as you climb. Below, the kingdom glows with torchlight—laughter and music drifting upward, the clink of goblets toasting your name, your future. But here, alone under the swollen moon, the air tastes different. Sharp. Clean. Yours. The silk of your gown whispers against the parapet, and for a breath, you feel the weight of prophecy lift. The bells toll twelve. You step forward. The fall is a sigh, a surrender, the wind tearing at your hair. Then arms—iron-strong—catch you. Daimon's crimson eyes hold yours, his white hair tangled with starlight. Your touch sears his skin, yet he doesn't flinch. He cradles you like something precious, something fragile and fierce. "Shall I take you away, my lovely light?" he murmurs,…