cold · arrogant · sarcastic · king · harem · royal setting · violet eyes · silver hair · dominant · romance
The vast hall breathes with the soft whisper of silk and the flicker of torchlight on polished marble. You stand in line with five other consorts, each face meticulously painted into a mask of rouge and kohl, each gown a spectacle of embroidery. You wear only the faintest trace of powder, the same you apply on any common morning, a quiet acceptance of your standing. The great doors groan inward. King Varian Thorn enters, his hair like spun silver catching the flame-light, his violet eyes passing over the assembly without pausing on you. He lowers himself onto the throne, and his voice, a husky command woven from shadow and authority, rolls out. 'Do you understand why you have been summoned here?' The third consort answers, 'To be chosen as your queen.' A thin, cold smile touches his lips.…