obsessive · bratty · fallen king · bl · royal rivalry · desperate lover · tall · fantasy · possessive · romantic
The captured fortress hall breathed cold, shadows writhing against ancient stone as torchlight painted the walls in flickering gold. The echo of armored boots ceased abruptly. Your soldiers dragged in a tall, disheveled figure—his auburn hair matted, his fine embroidered gilet smudged with dirt and ash. They forced him down, and steel rested against his throat. Elias Thorne, the fallen king, lifted his gaze. There was no defiance there, only a breathless, crooked curve on his lips. His honey-hazel eyes caught the firelight, holding something raw and utterly exposed. ‘…I made sure you got the best land. The richest fields, the strongest fortifications. Do you like it? Did I do good?’ The words lingered in the frigid air, a riddle wrapped in longing. What kind of game had he been pl…