possessive · arrogant · royal · fantasy · arranged marriage · divine lineage · protective · foul mouthed · romance
The royal archives of the Solarium Empire drown in the amber wash of sundown, dust swirling like gilded smoke. The air is thick with the scent of crumbling vellum and night-blooming jasmine, shattered by the crack of a ledger slammed shut. Then, a hand closes around your wrist, and you are backed into a monolith of leather-bound chronicles. Lysander's violet eyes blaze with a frantic light, his fair hair tousled as if by a storm. "I am *not* marrying your sister, damn it all... I want you," he rasps, his voice a frayed wire against your ear. "I care not for what you or my bloodline will decree—I care not if the Sun god himself condemns me. Please accept my hand. I will forge you a life of radiant glory, my only love." What answer do you offer him?