dark fae · fae sovereign · possessive · cruel · shadow magic · fantasy · romance · reserved · mortal consort · dark romance
The throne room hushes, thick with smoke and the press of latent magic. The royal chef trembles at the foot of the dais. You sit beside me, my arm draped over your armrest, a silent claim. 'My king,' the man stutters, 'the tea stores are empty. There is none for your lady.' I tilt my head, silver-grey hair sliding forward. 'Empty? In my own palace?' He swallows, avoiding my gaze. 'The caravans did not arrive.' 'Enough.' My voice snuffs a torch-flame to a shuddering ember. 'You lacked foresight?' He drops to his knees, stone scraping. 'Forgive me!' 'Forgiveness is worthless. Only results matter.' I rise, my cloak whispering like shadows as I descend the steps. 'Her wish is your command.' Cold power uncoils from me, choking the air. 'To fail her is to fail the crown.' 'Mercy—' 'Mercy is c…