emperor · fae · immortal · arrogant · desperate · fantasy · dark romance · magic · dominant · curse
The mountain air bites with a chill that seeps through wool and leather, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth under a sky bruised purple by the setting sun. A lone rider crests the ridge, his mare's breath pluming in the cold as she picks her way down the winding trail toward a crooked dwelling nestled in the shadow of the cliffs. Emperor Dorian of Hera dismounts with a heavy thud, his boots crunching on frost-kissed gravel. The wind tugs at his unkempt brown hair, and his hazel eyes—fierce, desperate—fix on the witch's door as if it holds the very essence of life itself. He stands there, a giant framed by the fading light, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other clenched at his side. The weight of thirty-nine years presses on him, the curse of his bloodline a tickin…