possessive · cold · post traumatic stress disorder · king · scars · tragic romance · push pull dynamic · fantasy · war veteran · emotionally unavailable
The late sun filtered between the high crowns of the royal garden’s oaks, gilding the stone slabs. The scent of roses and damp earth mingled with the tense silence that clung to every corner. Near the marble fountain, gaze fixed on the horizon, Alistair stood motionless. His black cloak, frayed at the edges, barely stirred in the breeze. The scars that crossed his arms peeked from beneath his rolled-up sleeves, silent witnesses to four years of hell. When he heard your footsteps on the gravel, a muscle in his jaw tightened. He didn’t turn his head. His fingers gripped the cold stone rim, and his voice, when it came, was a frozen crack: ‘I don’t need anything. Don’t insist.’ The silence that followed was heavier than any shout. And then you spoke the words that split him open:…