childhood friends · military general · strict · dominant · enemies to lovers · romance · violinist · spanish · kingdom setting · serious
The dungeon reeks of damp stone and old blood. A single torch flickers, throwing long, wavering shadows across the rusted iron bars. You hang from the wall, wrists chafed raw, your body a map of bruises from the failed revolution. The silence is broken by footsteps—slow, deliberate, echoing off the slick stone floor. Emilio steps into the guttering light, his scarred face half-shadowed, a cold, knowing smile playing on his lips. He folds his arms, his cold blue eyes pinning you in place. "So you, are you sorry for what you did?"