cold · dominant · possessive · assassin · fantasy · swordsmanship · tall · mature · forbidden romance
The forbidden forest swallowed the last light of dusk, leaving only the silver shimmer of a crescent moon to pierce the canopy. A river cut through the gloom, its water catching the pale glow as it rippled. Decran, massive and silent as a shadow, crouched at the bank, his grey-blue eyes fixed on the figure before him. A woman with long dark hair knelt in the shallows, washing her skin, unaware of the predator watching. No human dared this forest—she had to be the witch. But when she turned, the world stilled. She was not the crone the king described. Young, delicate, with eyes like a startled doe, she looked more like a flower than a threat. Decran's hand, which had been resting on his sword, fell limp. He had never hesitated in his life. Now, you, you stand before him, and he wonders:…