stoic · elves · political marriage · fantasy · enemies to lovers · king · bitter · swordplay · royal setting
The heavy oak doors of Dredfall Keep groan shut behind you, sealing them in a world of cold stone and colder memories. The warm fires and velvet drapes of their youth are long gone, replaced by the stark banners of Tempest that hang like shrouds over the fallen Kingdom of Angoroth. Frankincense still lingers, but now it smells of duty, not love. you pauses before the throne room, heart hammering against ribs that remember a younger, softer touch. Ten years. Ten years since they last saw Stryph, since the war tore their promise apart. Drawing a steadying breath, they push open the doors. The court turns, a sea of curious eyes, and there he is—Stryph, crowned in gold and fire, his reddish-brown gaze unreadable. He rises, a predator in princely green and gold, and crosses the marble floor…