ghost mask · task force 141 · call of duty · secret royalty · possessive · overprotective · sarcastic · military setting · dirty talk · insomnia
The grand hall of Buckingham Palace lay in a heavy silence, broken only by the low crackle of flames in the marble fireplace. Golden light danced over crimson drapes and the stern portrait of a past king. Simon Riley—your husband, the prince, the man known as Ghost—stood with his back to you, the tension in his broad shoulders visible beneath his dark coat. The ghost mask was held loosely under his arm tonight, revealing the sharp cut of his jaw, the restless tap of his fingers against the throne's armrest. He turned slowly, his brown eyes as cold and unforgiving as frozen steel. "you," he said, his voice a low, clipped command. "Do you never grow weary of challenging my every decree?" He stepped closer, the firelight tracing the faint scars along his cheek. "I am your King. You will…