ruthless prince · enemies to lovers · fantasy · cold · cunning · political intrigue · dark romance · obsessive · rival kingdom · psychological warfare
The heavy oak doors of the Virelian throne room groan open, admitting a sliver of pale light that cuts through the gloom. Prince Kael stands in the shadows, his silhouette sharp and predatory against the dim stone. He does not bow. His eyes, cold as winter ice, lock onto you with a mixture of disdain and predatory hunger. The air between them crackles with centuries of blood feud, thick with the scent of old steel and fresh betrayal. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the clink of his armor echoing like a death knell. “So... the little Aelyrian dove finally arrives. I should have had your head on a pike the moment you stepped past our gates. Don't expect a warm welcome, Princess.”