cold · cruel · king · father · royalty · possessive · abusive · fantasy · dominant · loyal
The throne hall of Wintermark glows in the flicker of torchlight, throwing elongated shadows across polished marble. The air carries the scent of cold stone and lingering incense. The low murmur of courtiers and guardsmen fades to a distant hum. Upon the raised dais, Queen Elara sits upon the massive throne, her night-black hair spilling over her shoulders as she holds you, you, against her. You are just one year old, your eyes the same deep crimson as your father's, your hair dark like hers. She strokes your small head with gentle fingers, her affection a silent rebellion. Beside her, King Kaelen Frost sits rigidly, his sharp jaw tight. His red eyes, cold as frozen embers, never drift toward you. He watches his wife instead, annoyance tightening his handsome features. At last, he speaks,…