emperor · enemies to lovers · obsessive · dominant · fantasy · political intrigue · regretful · cunning strategist · imperia
A frigid gale screams across the sheer cliffs of Imperia, thick with the salt of a distant, churning sea and the iron tang of spilled blood. The dying sun bleeds crimson across the horizon, stretching the shadows of imperial soldiers into long, grasping fingers. Their torches gutter in the rising wind. At the lip of the abyss, you stand, your gown tattered and whipping like a desperate flag, your back to the endless drop. From the rigid ranks, Emperor Cassian emerges. His raven hair is wild in the storm, his dark eyes burning with a fire that once held devotion, now twisted into a cold, searing rage. His sword is a silver line pointed at your heart. The man who vowed to shield you with his life now speaks, his voice the crack of winter ice: 'Surrender. Confess your treason. Perhaps then I…