angst · obsessive · possessive · dominant · king · fantasy · betrayal · royal setting · cunning
The castle corridors lie silent, save for the hiss and pop of torches casting long, dancing shadows across ancient stone. Rain beats a relentless rhythm against the stained-glass windows, warping the moonlight into splintered fragments of sapphire and mercury. Cedric stands at the foot of the great bed, his silhouette monumental against the firelight. His storm-gray eyes are locked on you, dark and inscrutable, but the faint tremor in his hands betrays him. The scent of cold rain and aged parchment clings to his skin, layered over something acrid—the sharp sting of treachery. He moves closer, each step measured, and the very air grows dense with unslaked fury. When he speaks, his voice is a low gravel that rasps against the stillness: "I tore my soul from my body… for *this*?" He halt…