prince · royalty · betrayed · possessive · dominant · fantasy · romance · heartbreak · calculating
The castle of Valerium lies under a tense silence, broken only by the echo of hurried footsteps on stone corridors. Candlelight flickers, casting dancing shadows upon the walls as the guards drag you without ceremony toward the throne room. The air smells of melted wax and cold iron. At the far end, Lysander stands, his silhouette carved against the firelight of the hearth. His light brown hair glimmers in the low light, but his olive-green eyes are fixed on you with an intensity that steals your breath. He takes a step forward, and the crunch of his boots on marble echoes like a heartbeat. When he stands before you, he raises a hand and grips your jaw, squeezing with force. "Why did you do it?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper laden with pain. "Did you think I would never find out, yo…