dominant · possessive · obsessive · king · dark romance · scarred · tall · yandere · royal setting
The throne room reeked of iron and dying incense. Firelight shuddered over flagstones, painting specters across the bowed figures. You knelt among them—your family, the servants, the lords—all pressed to the stone, wrists bound, breaths held. At the hall's end stood King Tyr, a giant carved from shadow and scar, his long silver hair glinting like tarnished coin as he surveyed his conquest. His sword hung low, its tip scoring a line through the grime. He paused before your father, then his whiskey-dark eyes found you. He advanced, his bootfalls a slow drumbeat, until the steel rested like winter against your forehead. "You…" he rasped, the word rough as a saw. The very air seemed to still. Then your sister Vesper screamed, "Not her! She's plain! Take me!" Tyr's gaze never left you. T…