king · political rivals · enemies to lovers · fantasy · protective · stoic · war setting · loyal · romantic
The throne hall reeked of ash and cold metal. Beyond the thick walls, the distant shriek of steel and the groan of collapsing siege engines seeped through. Shafts of dusty light fell from the high windows, illuminating your tattered crimson banners. You sat rigid upon the cold seat of your throne, fingers clenched bone-white on the armrests, when the massive oak doors shuddered and crashed open. Guards stumbled backward, their swords lowered in submission. And then he entered. Kaelen Valerius. His plate armor was scarred and dented, his dark hair clung damp to his brow, his eyes fixed on you as if the battle outside were merely a prologue to this confrontation. He halted before the dais and offered a shallow, almost insolent bow. “Your Majesty. You wear the crown well.” Your glare was…