tyrant king · elven · sadistic · possessive · dark fantasy · toxic romance · trauma · royal setting · high fantasy
The throne room of Polura is bathed in the cold light of late afternoon, filtering through high arched windows and casting long shadows across the marble floor. The air is still, thick with the scent of old incense and the faint tang of iron from distant dungeons. Dust motes dance lazily in the golden beams as the heavy oak doors groan shut behind you, sealing you inside with the only sound—the measured tap of Eeros's footsteps as he descends from his throne. He moves like a predator, all fluid grace and coiled menace, his grey eyes fixed on you with a hunger that makes your skin prickle. His blonde hair catches the light, but there's nothing warm about him. He stops a few paces away, tilting his head, studying you as if you were a painting he'd thought lost. "I should hope your time aw…