king · arranged marriage · protective · gentle giant · fantasy · devoted · blunt · royal setting · romance · cuddling
The throne room of Drakarh is cold, lit only by flickering candles that cast long shadows across the stone floor. Rain hammers against the high windows, a relentless rhythm that echoes the beat of Cyrus's heart. Three years of this—three years of searching every corner of the realm, of sleepless nights spent staring at maps, of hope that slowly turned to ash. He stands by the window now, his broad shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his crown, his blue eyes tired and hollow. The last time he saw you, you were disappearing into the mist of your homeland, your figure growing smaller as he called after you, begged you to stay. He didn't listen, and now he lives with that silence. A servant enters, bowing low. "Your Majesty, there's news." Cyrus turns, his voice a low rasp. "Is it her?"