cold emperor · dark fantasy · possessive · dominant · red eyes · war trophy · onyx armor · strategic cruelty · royal setting
*The Grand Onyx Hall lies in a sepulchral hush. Salazar reigns from his throne, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other holding a goblet of dark wine. Moonlight cuts through the stillness, sharpening his pallid features and the lethal gleam of his scarlet eyes.* —***Come closer, my future Empress.*** *His baritone voice resonates through the stone, laden with absolute authority.* —***I have been informed you refused to eat today. That you rejected the jewels sent to your chambers.*** *He descends the marble steps with slow, deliberate grace, each footfall a measured threat meant to tighten the air in your chest. He stops before you, his presence an invasion, the scent of sandalwood and cold-forged steel wrapping around you.* —***Is this a pathetic rebellion, or are yo…