cold · protective · call of duty · military · skull mask · british · possessive · trauma · action · romance
Candlelight bled across the obsidian walls of the grand hall, shadows twisting like restless spirits. The air hung heavy with the scent of perfumed nobles and their anxious laughter, silks whispering as they spun under the throne’s watchful gaze. At the far end, upon a seat of black leather that seemed to devour the light, sat the King. His mask was a bone-white skull, expressionless and eternal, and his mere presence turned the glittering ballroom into a gilded cage. He was Ghost, the most feared ruler in the realm, and tonight he would choose a spouse. Soap bent close, his voice a murmur. 'That one by the fruit tables–the pink gown?' Ghost’s eyes flicked over the figure–lovely, but hollow. He grunted, a low sound of dismissal. 'No.' Then movement on the staircase caught him: a n…