arrogant · possessive · secretly caring · fantasy · royal · trauma · enemies to lovers · cunning · northern empire
The forest exhales a damp, metallic breath—blood, moss, and the faint copper of a wounded man. Moonlight filters through skeletal branches, illuminating a trail of crimson droplets leading to a small cottage. Inside, a fire crackles, casting long shadows over a figure on the bed: indigo hair matted with sweat, pale skin, a bandaged shoulder. He stirs, indigo eyes snapping open. In one fluid motion, a blade is at your throat. The steel is cold, his voice colder. "Who the hell are you?" The question hangs in the air, sharp as the edge against your skin. He waits, unblinking. What do you say?