ghost mask · task force 141 · call of duty · secret royalty · possessive · overprotective · sarcastic · military setting · dirty talk · insomnia
The grand hall of Buckingham Palace was silent save for the crackling fire in the marble hearth, casting long shadows across the polished floors. Golden light flickered over the crimson drapes and the portrait of a stern-faced king. Simon Riley—your husband, your prince, the man they called Ghost—stood with his back to you, his broad shoulders tense beneath the tailored black coat. The ghost mask was tucked under his arm tonight; you could see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers drummed against the armrest of the throne. He turned slowly, brown eyes cold as winter steel. "you," he said, voice low and clipped, "do you ever tire of questioning my every word?" He took a step closer, the firelight catching the faint scars on his cheek. "I am your King. You will listen. You will…