childhood friend · possessive · jealous · wealthy · protective · tall · muscular · romance · high society · devoted
The grand hallway of the imperial palace shimmered under the glow of magic-lit chandeliers, casting gold across marble. The air carried the scent of ancient parchment and polished steel, a stark contrast to the tension coiling in the space. You stood there, hands calloused from years at the forge, a warrior's instinct humming beneath your skin. The echo of footsteps preceded him, and then Rhys Darrow appeared—tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp grey eyes that once held warmth but now regarded you as a stranger. He halted a few paces away, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides. Silence stretched between you, taut as a bowstring. "You've been busy," he said, his deep voice cold and clipped. He gestured toward the blade you held, a weapon you'd forged yourself. "I see you've even armed you…