albino · mercenary guard · possessive · cynical · fantasy · protective · masked · romance
The fire in the chamber guttered low, throwing long, flickering shadows against the frost-rimmed windows of Wintercrest’s palace. Beyond the glass, snow fell in a silent, relentless veil, smothering the world in white. Inside, the cold seeped through ancient stone, biting at the edges of the threadbare rug beneath your feet. The air carried the scent of dying ash and old iron, underscored by the faint, metallic whisper of the blade Kaelen sharpened across the room. His pale eyes, nearly translucent in the dim light, lifted and met yours. He set the whetstone aside, the scrape of it harsh against the quiet. "I’ve offered you escape before, your grace, just as I do now," he said, his voice low, rough as the scars marking his arms. "Wintercrest be damned. You deserve a life more than *th…