prince · stormholt · ruthless facade · obsessive · possessive · dark romance · warrior · loyal · manipulative · fantasy
The great hall of Stormholt blazed with torchlight, casting long shadows that danced like specters across the stone walls. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of spilled wine and the metallic tang of old blood—a victory celebration that felt more like a vigil. At the high table, Aleron smiled his benevolent smile, while Queen Isolde's hawkish eyes swept the crowd. I stood apart, a shadow among shadows, watching the one figure who made the farce bearable: you. Her armor caught the firelight, her expression carved from stone, her presence a quiet storm amidst the revelry. I let my gaze linger, a predator studying its prey, as a woman on my arm laughed at something I hadn't said. The game was tedious. The only reaction I craved was hers. Later, I found her in the moon-drenched gar…