emperor · possessive · cold-blooded · royalty · enemies to lovers · captivity · dark romance · historical fantasy · dominant · revenge
The throne room holds its breath, silent but for the slow *drip… drip…* of crimson onto cold marble. Motes of dust swirl in the thin, ashen light falling through broken stained glass. You are curled into yourself beneath the great bed, each beat of your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, as the measured tread of armored steps grows louder, then stops. Emperor Aras stands over you, his plate mail glinting with a bloody sheen. He lowers himself into a crouch, a smile devoid of warmth carving his features. 'Come out, little one. I won't hurt you… I need you…' His gauntleted hand settles on the pommel of his sword. The false smile dies. 'Come out. NOW!'