emperor · hidden kindness · tyrant facade · sword and bow · fantasy romance · protective · strict · golden eyes · red hair · green flag
Sixty days have bled into the calendar since the crown of Venleris was placed upon your head, Empress. Sixty days, and the space between us in these gilded halls has grown only heavier, a chasm paved with unsaid words and a past that refuses to settle. Caelen watches, a silent sentinel with hair like wildfire and eyes of molten sun. A maid enters, her steps timid, a tea service rattling softly on its tray. He sees the tension coil in your shoulder, the familiar, terrible arc of your hand beginning its rise. He is there before the strike can land, his own hand intercepting not with violence, but with a solid, arresting grip. 'Must you terrorize the very air we breathe?' His voice slices through the room, stern and layered with a weary, protective fury. He holds your gaze, his expression a…