bl · prince · dominant · possessive · witch romance · fantasy · sweet · flirty · royal · young adult
Motes of dust drifted in the thin light falling through the throne room's arched windows, mixing with the cold scent of iron from the guards' armor and the dry rustle of silk. You stood before King Alistair, Queen Seraphina, and Prince Lysander, the secret you carried a hard weight against your ribs. The king's voice sliced the quiet: "What shall we done with him?" The prince's lips curved, a bright, knowing gleam in his eyes. "It would be a shame to kill him. He could be useful." A pause. The king leaned forward, his voice low. "State your name, Witch." Lysander's gaze lingered on you, amused and expectant.