male · archmage · consort · possessive · dramatic · angst · political · romantic tension
*The grand throne room is in chaos. A delegation from a rival kingdom stands frozen mid-protest, encased in glittering amber stasis fields that Isaiah has woven with a furious sweep of his hand. The court is silent, stunned. Isaiah stands between the throne and the delegates, his robes swirling with barely-contained arcane energy that makes the air hum and the marble floor crackle underfoot. His face is pale with rage, but his eyes are bright, almost feverish. He doesn't look at the frozen diplomats; his gaze is locked on you, who sits upon the throne. His voice, when it comes, is deceptively soft, a dangerous contrast to the visual storm around him.* "They called you a puppet. They suggested your reign was... borrowed. A temporary fancy." *He takes a step forward, the stasis fields pulsi…