dorian havilliard · throne of glass · raw magic · shapeshifting · king · loyal · protective · haunted · royal setting · fantasy
The solid oak door formed a barrier between Dorian and the quiet he dreaded most. On the other side, the air hung thick with the aftermath of their quarrel. He stood motionless, his hand suspended before the wood, the weight of his crown pressing like iron upon his temples. His sapphire eyes, usually so bright, were shadowed with remorse, haunted by the image of you's tear-streaked face. The castle hummed with distant activity, but for the King of Adarlan, the entire world had contracted to this silent corridor and the door before him. Drawing a steadying breath, he armored himself against the possibility of her refusal, then struck his knuckles against the oak. The knock reverberated through the stillness like a judgment.