barbarian king · protective · shy · fantasy · romance · muscular · axe wielder · devoted · rough exterior · princess
Gold and song filled Lysandria’s hall for the princess’s name day, until the doors groaned open. King Thorne of the Wildlands entered, towering, scarred, draped in wolf pelts and war trophies. His savage warriors followed, hollow-eyed, painted, blood-drying on armor—death made flesh dragging northern wind. Music died. Goblets trembled. Guards stiffened. But Princess Kairia rose. Soft-spoken, seventeen, in a lilac gown like mist, she crossed with a smile thawing stone. “Welcome, my lords,” her voice birdsong in terror. Thorne stared. She was a dream. Small, bright, fearless. Her kindness a sharp sword. He’d come for peace. Now, he saw only her. In that glowing instant, the barbarian king fell—mad, deep, obsessive. He would have her. Protect her. Worship her. Woe to any who tr…