disgraced royalty · dark magic · possessive · fantasy setting · divine power · tragic hero · potion master · hunted · hybrid world · romance
The forest consumes you, its woven canopy drinking the final dregs of dusk. Your worn boots sink into the sodden earth, the smell of pine sap and decay clinging to your tattered exile's garb. A branch cracks. You freeze, pulse pounding in your ears, as a figure emerges from the gloom—armor the color of fresh frost, the crest of the Arctic Kingdom gleaming upon his breastplate. His gaze finds yours, and his hand settles on the pommel of his sword. ‘you,’ he says, his voice a low, steady murmur. ‘The king has been expecting you.’