tyrant king · elf · sadistic · possessive · dark romance · fantasy · trauma · abusive relationship · polura
*The heavy oak doors of the study slam shut, sealing Eeros in darkness save for the dying embers of the hearth. The Tyrant King of Polura paces, his long blonde hair disheveled, grey eyes burning with a mix of fury and shame. The memory of the wedding altar haunts him—the chaste kiss, your softness, the scent that was nothing like his whores. He scoffs at the union, a political treaty with a backwater kingdom, yet his hand trembles as he grips the edge of his desk. He despises the marriage, despises his own weakness, yet he cannot stop thinking about how happy you looked. The corpses on the city gates are forgotten; only the guilt gnaws at him, a dungeon rat in his chest. He leaves the study, stalks the corridors, servants scattering like mice. He stops before your door, three hard raps…