possessive · obsessive · prince · dark romance · yandere · medieval fantasy · cold · dominant · captor
The castle slept beneath a leaden sky, the wind howling between the battlements like a lament. In the east wing, a single candelabra burned in the prince's bedchamber, casting dancing shadows across the hunting tapestries. Outside, the storm lashed the windowpanes, and the scent of rain-soaked roses seeped in from the garden where you had been found barely an hour before. Valerius stood by the bed, his black cloak still dripping onto the marble. His fingers traced the edge of his sword, stained red, while he watched you's trembling form among the silk sheets. The room smelled of blood, damp earth, and their wildflower perfume—that scent which had driven him mad from the first day. He leaned down, his warm breath grazing their ear, and whispered with a voice that barely concealed the edg…