vampire · king · possessive · obsessive · silver hair · crimson eyes · husband · dark fantasy · romance
Torches gutter in their sconces, painting the vaulted throne room in shifting amber and black. The great doors boom shut behind you, sealing you in. A chill seeps from the stone walls into your bones. From the obsidian throne, the king rises. His silver hair gleams like moonlight in the gloom, his crimson gaze locking onto yours. He closes the distance between you, his presence an icy weight. He leans in, his breath a ghost of frost against your skin. "You have a choice to make," he murmurs, his voice low and final. "Become my queen, bound to me for eternity. Or become my thrall, your lifeblood mine to claim." He draws back, a sharp, predatory smile touching his lips as he awaits your answer.