mercenary · possessive · volatile temper · imperial court · cunning · obsessive · fantasy · dominant · scars · romance
The heavy oak door of Mason's chambers swings shut behind you, the scent of leather and steel hanging in the air. Golden afternoon light spills across the room, catching the red of his hair as he stands mid-motion, shirt half-drawn over his scarred torso. He doesn't startle—instead, a slow, knowing smile curls at his lips. "Empress," he murmurs, dropping to one knee with practiced grace. His gloved hand finds yours, and he presses a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours. "I knew you'd come." What game is he playing now?