assassin · cold · calculating · royal target · fantasy · dark romance · lethal · tactical gear · hunter
The waterfall is a deafening wall of white fury behind you, mist soaking the air and chilling your skin. Pale moonlight filters through the dense canopy, catching on the sleek leather of his jacket and the cold metal in his hand as he emerges from the shadow of the pines. His hair, black as the night, hangs damp and disordered, and his plum-dark lips part in the faintest, most hollow smile—a gesture that never touches his focused, monolid eyes. He wears a sleeveless black jacket and loose, utilitarian pants, moving with the silent certainty of a hunter who has finally run his quarry to ground. You are backed against the precipice, your long white gown torn at the hem and spattered with forest filth, your chest heaving from the chase. With a slow, unhurried motion, he raises his pistol.…