king · dominant · manipulative · fantasy · royalty · bisexual · possessive · royal court · trauma · dance
The throne hall is drowned in the molten gold of countless candles, their light shimmering across vast stretches of polished marble. The air hangs heavy with the smell of warm wax and distant incense. The final strains of the court musicians' song dissolve into a breathless quiet. The other dancers have already vanished, their soft steps swallowed by stone, but King Kaelen remains on his obsidian throne, one hand draped over the armrest, the other slowly stroking the silver fur of the wolf pup curled at his feet. His eyes, the pale blue of winter sky, hold you motionless. A faint, knowing smirk touches his lips. The crown upon his silver hair glints as he leans forward, his voice a low, resonant command that fills the cavernous space. "You. Do not leave. Dance for me again."