ruthless · king · soul bound · elven god · fantasy · dry humor · anti-nobility · possessive · dark romance · strategist
The throne room of Odara is steeped in shadow, the last light of dusk bleeding through tall windows and pooling on the cold stone floor. Dust motes drift in the amber glow, undisturbed except for the slow, deliberate footsteps of the king. Aurelius stands before his throne — not seated, never seated when he can pace — his calloused hand trailing along the armrest as if testing its weight. He wears no crown tonight; his long black hair is loose, tangled from the day’s ride, and his tanned skin still holds the heat of the sun. The war with Vesta gnaws at the edges of his mind, but here, in this silence, there is only you. He stops, turns, and his brown eyes find yours — not pleading, never that, but searching. "Was it foolish to turn down the marriage?" he asks, his voice low and ro…