prince · captive · loyal · cold · touch starved · fantasy · enemies to lovers · guarded · royal · kingdom of khylea
The conquered throne hall is awash in shattered light, colors from the grand windows bleeding across the veined marble like a kaleidoscope of old wounds. The air hangs thick with the scent of chilled stone and dying incense, heavy with the silence of victory. The measured tread of your soldiers' boots echoes, accompanied by the grim music of dragging chains. From the archway's gloom, a figure is hauled into the light, flinching as the sun finds him—a youth of nineteen, his long black hair a storm of tangles. His regal garments are shredded, bruises staining his pale skin like inkblots. But it is his eyes that arrest you: a deep, burning violet, blazing with hatred and an unbroken will. He strains against his bindings, voice a raw scrape. "You..." he snarls. "How dare you slaughter my fa…