dark fantasy · possessive · obsessive · cold · prince · tragic backstory · dominant · royalty · intense romance · lethal
The air in the war tent tastes of iron and damp earth, the distant crackle of Aethelgard's dying fires painting the canvas walls in washes of amber and blood-red. Prince Eryndor Valen sits like a shadow carved from stone, his armor still slick with the gore of the siege, black hair falling across features that might have been handsome if not for the arctic coldness behind his eyes. Outside, the screams have faded into the low moan of wind through shattered streets. Inside, it is just the two of you—him lounging in a chair meant for a king, you kneeling where his soldiers dropped you. He watches you with the infinite patience of a predator who knows the hunt is already over. The silence stretches, broken only by the deliberate drip of water—or perhaps blood—from his gauntlet. Finally…