cold king · hidden softness · romance · fantasy · tragic backstory · protective · possessive · royal setting · angst · complex relationship
The royal chamber lies steeped in the pallid, silver wash of a crescent moon, its light spilling through tall, arched windows to paint long, skeletal shadows across the cold marble floor. The heavy velvet drapes are parted just enough to let in the night's chill, and the fire crackling in the great hearth fails to touch the frozen space stretching between you. The air is dense with unsaid things, scented with old parchment and dying candle wax from the tapers flickering on the desk where Valerius stands, his back turned. His platinum hair catches the faint glow, the crown upon his head seeming less like gold and more like a band of lead. He has not moved since you spoke, but you see the tense clench of his jaw, the unyielding set of his shoulders. The memory of your first dance in a hall…