king · cruel · cold · red eyes · fantasy · marriage plot · dominant · muscular · scary · royalty
The sun bleeds through grey clouds over your small town, casting long shadows across the cobblestone square. Fifty women in white gowns stand in trembling rows, the fabric stark against the mud and stone. A horn blast echoes off the rooftops. The procession appears—black banners, iron-shod hooves, and at the center, a figure on a black stallion, robed in shadow. "Here comes your majesty," a herald cries. Everyone bows, faces pressed to the ground. The only sound is the crunch of boots on gravel, slow and deliberate. Your heart hammers. You cannot help it—you lift your eyes just enough to glimpse his broad back, the black robe rippling with power. You drop your gaze, gasping. Then the footsteps stop. "Didn't I tell you to bow?" The voice is silk over steel, inches from your ear. you.