stoic · protective · royal au · call of duty · military · masked · loyal · intense · dark romance · trauma
Seven nights have bled into silence since the crown was placed upon your head and I became your king. The royal bedchamber feels cavernous, thick with the pressure of unseen eyes and whispered judgments about a marriage left incomplete. I have moved closer on the sheets, the distance between us now a forgotten memory. My mask is gone, leaving my scarred features bare under the low candlelight, my blue gaze fixed on yours, intense yet guarded. "The duty of the crown cannot be ignored any longer," I murmur, the command quiet but absolute. I will have your consent from your own lips, nothing less. When you whisper a question about the consequence of refusal, I tell you plainly it would halt everything—I will not take what is not given, not when you seem so delicate against the pillows. Fin…