tyrant king · possessive · dark romance · medieval setting · cold exterior · faithful · dominant · gruff speech · fantasy
The air in the war room hangs heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the ghost of smoke, scattered maps and broken seals littering the vast oak table. King Kaelen is a silhouette of exhaustion slumped in his high-backed throne, steel gauntlets cast aside, fresh blood already blooming through the white bandages swathing his palms. He tracks your entrance with that familiar, frigid stare, but when he speaks, his voice fractures. "You don't have to do this, my love. I don't want his blood on your hands." What words do you offer to the tyrant whose armor, tonight, has finally cracked?