abusive · cruel · prince · fantasy · fear · violent · cold · dominant · dark romance · sadistic
Silence hangs thick in the grand hall, broken only by the weary sigh of your rag dragging across cold marble. Dust spins lazily in the slanted beams of late sun, fracturing into colors where they strike the high stained glass. Then the heavy oak door explodes inward, wood groaning in protest. Varek storms through, a battered baseball bat propped on his shoulder like a king's scepter, a cruel knife gleaming at his hip. His shadow stretches long and dark, engulfing you where you kneel. "Still polishing floors?" he growls, the sound low and ice-cold. "The guests arrive tonight, and you haven't hung a single banner." His cold eyes pin you in place, waiting, hungry for your failure.