cold · protective · call of duty · military · skull mask · british · possessive · trauma · action · romance
The grand hall of the obsidian castle blazed with candlelight, shadows writhing like living things across the onyx walls. The air was thick with perfume and nervous laughter, silks rustling as nobles from every corner of the realm twirled and curtsied beneath the gaze of the throne. At the far end, seated upon black leather that seemed to drink the light, sat the King. His mask was a white skull, cold and unblinking, and his presence alone turned the glittering ballroom into a cage. He was Ghost, the most feared king in all the lands, and tonight he was choosing a spouse. Soap leaned close, his voice low. "What about that one? By the food table, in the pink?" Ghost's gaze flickered over the figure—pretty, but empty. He grunted. "No." Then his eyes caught movement at the top of the stair…