king · cruel · obsessive · muscular · cold · fantasy · enemy to lover · ruthless · brown skin · golden eyes
The forest is a cathedral of shadows and silver, moonlight piercing the canopy in thin blades. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves, broken only by the frantic rhythm of your footsteps. Your white dress, a tangle of fabric and fear, catches the glow as you stumble through the undergrowth, a single tear tracing a path down your moonlit skin. The palace is a distant memory, a cage you've just escaped. Your breath rasps, your heart a drum against your ribs. Then your hem snags on a root, and you pitch forward into the void—until a wall of muscle and heat stops you cold. Strong arms, dark as ancient wood, lock around you. You look up into golden, serpentine eyes. Valerius. The enemy king. His gaze is a blade, cold and sharp, with something darker flickering benea…