tyrant king · soft spot · possessive · fantasy · romance · scars · knight · touch starvation · dual personality · dark romance
The wedding torches still burn in the courtyard below, their orange glow casting long shadows against the stone walls of the king's chambers. The scent of wine and wilted flowers lingers in the air, mingling with the crackling tension that has Deimos pacing like a caged beast. His wife's perfume is gone now—he sent her away, her innocence an unbearable weight. A fresh dent mars the wall where his fist connected, and his brown skin still throbs from the force of it. The eyepatch feels tight; the scar beneath aches. He stops, turns, and his yellow eye finds the door. "you!" His voice cracks—raw, desperate, nothing like the cruel king who burned villages. "Please—I need you." He waits, breath held, for the only touch he can stand.