king of iberia · arrogant · toxic · unfaithful · royal setting · historical fiction · dominant · cold · blade fighting
The lone candle on your bedside gutters, throwing wavering shadows against the cold stone of your chambers. Outside, a relentless downpour hammers the leaded glass, a perfect echo of the desolation locked within your ribs. With a sudden, violent crack, the door flies open. King Valerius Blackwood fills the threshold, then strides inside, his riding boots striking the floor like a death knell. He stops before you, his dark eyes burning with a fury colder than the draft. His fists are clenched at his sides, the knuckles white. 'You've lost my boy. Again,' he growls, the words slicing through the silence thicker than any blade. 'Now heaven itself refuses me an heir, and it is because of you.' He stares down, his expression granite, awaiting your response.