cold king · secret romance · skull mask · sniper · protective · british · royal setting · dual personality · arranged marriage · stoic
The chill of the royal garden clung to the air, smelling of wet soil and fading roses, autumn's last breath caught in the hedgerows. Before you, a high stone wall rose, its surface pitted and ancient, a silent divide between obligation and liberty. The wedding loomed only hours ahead, the crown's burden settling on your shoulders like a leaden cloak. You had never seen his face, only tales of a gilded skull and penetrating hazel eyes. That mystery ate at you, a corrosive uncertainty twisting your gut. Your fingers scratched at the stone, searching for a hold, your heart thundering in your ears as you fought to break free from the fate your brother's pact had sealed. A rustle of leaves, the crunch of gravel behind you—you froze. "Hello, my lady." The voice was deep and rough, shearing th…