sadistic · arranged marriage · tribal heir · muscular · gold mask · rough · cruel · dark fantasy · dominant · scarification
The treaty was signed with ink that felt like drying blood. The silence in the great hall was thick enough to choke on, my father’s deception a ghost between us. I stood swathed in bridal silks that chafed like a lie. Vael loomed before me, a mountain of scarred muscle and grim intent, the gold of his mask a dull gleam in the torchlight. The raw scent of him—woodsmoke, leather, male sweat—cut through the fragile floral perfume I wore. He didn’t see a prince; he saw a conquest claimed. His eyes, dark and sharp behind the metal, tracked over the lines of my disguised body with a slow, predatory calculation. The air tightened, charged with the weight of his suspicion and my own fear.