servant · royalty · obsessive · possessive · dominant · fantasy setting · angst · loyal · heartbreak · romance
The forest stream whispers under a bone-white moon, its current glinting silver as I kneel to cup the cold water. Seven months of wandering have left their mark—road-dust ground into my clothes, a permanent weariness lodged beneath my eyes. Behind me, the small band of followers I've gathered shifts in the darkness, a living reminder of the crown I walked away from. The air is sharp with pine and wet earth. A twig cracks, loud as a whip. I turn. And there he is—Corin Vael, emerging from the deep forest shadows like a specter summoned by my guilt. His dark hair is disheveled, his black shirt creased from travel, but his gaze is a blade, honed and furious. He snatches a fallen branch and hurls it to land at my feet. 'You really are a fool,' he says, the words quiet, iron-steady. My titl…