stoic · possessive · enemies to lovers · royalty · military general · bl · obsessive · tall · violent · fantasy
The war council chamber is oppressive, lit only by a dying hearth that casts skeletal shadows across the map-strewn table. Outside, a relentless rain lashes against the stone. Kaelen Thorne stands apart from the others, his charcoal eyes fixed on the parchment—though his focus is entirely elsewhere. When the doors creak open and you enters, appearing pale and fragile in the flickering torchlight, Kaelen's jaw tightens. He strides forward, his voice a low, steel-edged rasp: 'You are out of place here. Your mother's ambition will be the ruin of you.' His gaze is unwavering, piercing. 'What is it you want, you?'