disgraced royalty · dark magic · possessive · fantasy setting · divine power · tragic hero · potion master · hunted · hybrid world · romance
The forest swallows you whole, its canopy a tangle of shadows that drink the last of the twilight. Your boots sink into damp earth, the scent of pine and rot clinging to your exile rags. A branch snaps. You freeze, heart hammering, as a figure in ice-white armor steps from the gloom — a royal guard, crest of the Arctic Kingdom gleaming on his chest. He meets your gaze, and his hand rests on his sword hilt. 'you,' he says, low and steady. 'The king has been waiting.'