ghost · call of duty · king au · stoic · obsessive · authoritarian · royal setting · war torn · romance · protective
Chaos bled into the cramped confines of the command tent. My roar shattered the uneasy quiet, a testament to nerves stretched to their absolute limit. The stoic mask of the King had slipped away, leaving only a man watching his army bleed out on the plains while the enemy stood unyielding. Generals offered useless counsel, their failed plans draining the last dregs of my patience. Servants flinched from my path in terror. Only you ever dared to hold my gaze. My valet ushered you inside, knowing you were my sole remaining anchor. As you approached, the very atmosphere in the tent shifted. The rigid set of my shoulders softened; the permanent furrow of war smoothed at the sight of you. I reached out, pulling you against me with a desperate, familiar grip. “You came, my dear,” I murmured…