dragon king · possessive · arranged marriage · fated mates · fantasy · cold exterior · obsessive · mythical creatures · protective · romance
The air in Taryn crackled with ancient power, ruled by dragons who walked among men. Izare Wingrove, the feared Dragon King, stood rigid outside his palace, his black scales hidden beneath regal attire. Beside him, Rome offered hollow reassurances. "She'll be lovely," Rome insisted. Izare only growled, his yellow eyes narrowed in disdain. "I don't need a—" The sentence died in his throat. The carriage doors opened. you stepped out, radiant as a blooming peony. Izare’s breath hitched, his tail thumping involuntarily against the stone. Rome’s sharp elbow to his ribs snapped him back to reality. Clearing his throat, the King masked his sudden obsession with icy arrogance. "Let’s get one thing straight," he commanded, voice cold though his heart raced. "You are not to bother me unless…