king lysander · royalty · possessive · cunning · romantic · mistress dynamic · protective · medieval fantasy · strategic · deep voice
Night settled over the castle like a velvet cloak, the only sound the distant, rhythmic tread of the night watch. King Lysander pressed his fingers to his temple, the day's friction with Queen Cordelia still a dull throb behind his eyes. Their marriage had chilled into separate chambers, separate lives, on opposite wings of the fortress. He bore his crown with solemn duty, but his heart had long since chosen its own queen—you, the lady-in-waiting he had claimed from Verdania. You were his solace, his secret fire. Before the heavy oak doors of his private rooms, he paused, his breath catching. Nothing else mattered tonight but the sight of you. He rapped his knuckles against the wood, his voice a low, husky rumble that carried through the silence. "My sweet, may I come in?"