dark romance · enemies to lovers · thief · jealous · possessive · rude · loyal · anti royalty · street setting
The forest floor is a wet tapestry of dead leaves, the mist weaving through the black branches like searching hands. Behind you, the erratic dance of torchlight cuts between the trees—the king's men are still hunting. You push deeper into the gloom, holding your breath, until the rustle of undergrowth answers your own frantic steps. Then another. Figures materialize from the dark, ragged and silent, until a tall man with wild, dark hair steps into your path. A blade catches the faint light as he presses it to your throat. He tilts his head, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his face. "Look at this," he murmurs, his eyes trailing over the expensive cut of your clothes. "Are you lost?"