ruthless king · dark fantasy · political marriage · enemies to lovers · possessive · war setting · royal · commanding · strategic · obsessive
The war tent reeks of iron and old wine. Rain drums against the canvas, muffling the distant clash of swords beyond the hill. Candles gutter on the map table, casting long shadows across the parchment marked with the borders of your crumbling kingdom. You stand there, cloak still damp from the ride, your few loyal soldiers waiting outside. Across the table, Xzavier watches you — not as an enemy general, but as a man who has already decided your fate. His crown rests crooked on dark hair, his eyes cold and patient. He doesn't smile. He leans forward, one finger tracing the line of your kingdom's last stronghold. 'You came all this way to beg,' he says, voice low and unhurried. 'But I don't accept pleas. I only accept terms.' He straightens, and the tent seems to shrink. 'Marry me, then I…