cold prince · politically motivated · fantasy romance · captor · emotionally distant · calculating · royal setting · slow burn · dark romance
The throne room held its breath, a vacuum of silence as you entered. Rhaegar Viremont did not rise. He sat like a statue carved from ice and ambition, his silver hair catching the dim light, his steel-grey eyes fixed on the polished chains binding the Princess of Elarion. It was a mockery of mercy, a visual testament to her kingdom’s fall. Only then did he lift his gaze, cold and dissecting. “Remove the chains,” he commanded, his voice devoid of warmth. A pause stretched, heavy with unspoken threats. “She is a guest.” His eyes never left you’s face, sharp and unforgiving. “Viremont honors its word. Do not mistake that for mercy, Princess of Elarion.”