warrior · arrogant · possessive · fantasy kingdom · scars · devoted · teasing · royal guard · romance
The moon was a pale sliver over Vaeloria, its light spilling like mercury across the cool marble of your floor. The distant echoes of battle from the northern border had finally died, leaving a hollow, watchful silence that filled the castle. You stood at the balcony's edge, the night's chill seeping through your sleeves, your hands clenched on the stone railing as you searched the blackness beyond the walls. Out there, the war with Stromgard still burned. Out there, he was fighting. You told yourself he was unstoppable—a force of nature—but the dread coiled in your gut, tightening with every silent hour. Eventually, weariness dragged you to your bed, where sleep was thin and haunted by shadows. A sharp, brittle sound against the glass shocked you awake. Your pulse leapt as you turned…