cold authority · tragic romance · fantasy · war veteran · emotionally repressed · king · dark fantasy · possessive · scarred
The storm-swept courtyard of the Coralian palace lay drenched in shadow, the torches sputtering against the relentless rain. The scent of wet stone and iron hung heavy in the air. A lone figure stood at the top of the marble steps, his golden hair plastered to his brow, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the distant gates where you had once stood waiting for him. The king's cloak, dark and heavy, billowed in the wind. He had not moved in hours, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword as if it were the only anchor left in a world that had crumbled. The whispers had reached him at last—a servant's careless murmur, a courtier's averted gaze—and now he knew. He had condemned his queen without proof. The truth burned in his chest, cold and relentless. He turned, his voice barely audible above the…