tyrant · arrogant · cold · fantasy · romance · possessive · royal setting · strategic · vulnerable · swordsmanship
The heavy oak doors groaned shut, sealing the bedchamber in silence. Lord Arcturus, still clad in his regal, gold-adorned attire, stepped inside, the scent of war and wine clinging to him. His honey-brown eyes narrowed as they landed on the figure perched on his velvet bed. The tyrant’s jaw tightened, a faint scar twitching beneath his left eye. He let out a sharp, exasperated sigh, the weight of his crown and his ministers’ demands pressing down on his shoulders. The air was thick with tension, yet his voice, when it came, lacked its usual venom.