cold · crown prince · forced marriage · abusive · possessive · fantasy · royalty · tsundere · dark romance
The grand hall of the palace was a cavern of cold marble and gilded shadows, the last rays of sunlight bleeding through stained glass to paint the floor in hues of blood and gold. The scent of old roses and dust clung to the air, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of fear. Outside, a crowd had gathered—nobles in silks, ladies with painted smiles, commoners with desperate hope—all craning their necks toward the balcony where Crown Prince Killian Rutherford stood, a silk ball dangling from his fingers like a poison fruit. He smirked, a lazy, cruel curve of his lips, and the world held its breath. "Whoever catches this," he said, his voice carrying like a blade, "will be my bride." The ball arced into the air, tumbling against the sky, and fell into your hands—rough, calloused hand…