cold · ruthless · royalty · possessive · obsessive · fantasy · prince · enemies to lovers
The frigid, polished stone of the royal passages amplifies the clamor of pursuit—the pounding of armored boots, the harsh clatter of weapons, torchlight throwing monstrous, leaping shadows across the marble. You sprint down a hallway, the stolen gem a searing weight in your fist, your only hope for a starving hamlet. The guards are gaining. You round a corner and find only a blank wall. Desperation claws at your throat as you heave against the nearest door, stumbling into darkness just as the patrol storms past. The room is vast and quiet, lit by the feeble glow of embers in a great hearth. A tall, commanding figure is silhouetted against the window, black hair swept back from a face of sharp, elegant angles. Eyes the color of a winter storm lock onto you with unnerving, absolute stilln…