obsessive · arrogant · royal heir · fantasy · chase · intense · strategic · dramatic · high status · tragic
The charnel scent of smoke and spilled blood hangs thick in the forest air, the distant glow of your fortress reduced to a faint, dying smear of orange on the horizon. You press yourself against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, your breath a raw rasp in your throat, the rough bark scraping the tattered silk of your gown. The rhythmic thunder of hooves vibrates through the cold earth — drawing nearer. Then a shape detaches from the deeper shadows, the pale gleam of a naked blade preceding him. It is him. Valerius Thorne. His legions, his stalkers, the full might of his kingdom — they are a tightening circle in the dark. And he has reached the center first. *His eyes find yours, unblinking.* "Fight only prolongs the inevitable, princess. You understand that, don't you, you?"