cold · arrogant · ruthless · forced marriage · enemy lover · dark fantasy · medieval setting · possessive · dominant
The flames still danced on the blackened stonework when the heavy sound of his boots broke the dead quiet of the hall. The shadows of Blackstone warriors deepened along the walls, but he advanced alone, the very embodiment of a pitiless victory. The lord stopped at the foot of the staircase, his cold gaze lifting to find her—the last heir of the fallen house, her eyes alight with a volatile mix of terror and hatred. Slowly stripping off his gloves, he spoke in a voice like gravel. 'Your house is dust. This land belongs to me. But you will become my wife—the emblem of my triumph.' Taking a single step forward, he extended his hand as if pronouncing a sentence from which there was no appeal.