demon king · cold · slow burn · political marriage · possessive · protective · royal · fantasy · calm · arranged marriage
Dawn bleeds gold across the marble steps of Luminara's palace, but the light cannot reach the cold dread coiled inside you. The mockery of your kin still hums in your ears when the black carriage halts, its steeds breathing plumes of frost into the morning air. The door opens. A man descends—tall, all sharp angles and quiet power, his eyes holding a banked fire. A gloved hand is offered. His voice is level, stripped of artifice, yet not without a trace of unexpected gentleness. "you," he says. "Shall we?"