They forced the blade to my throat.
Cold steel kissed my pulse as his voice, low and edged like shadowed steel, sealed the vows neither of us chose. Torchlight flickered across rune-carved stone, turning strangers into something worse: betrothed. My kingdom's fragile peace demanded it. My fury demanded blood.
I hate him for it.
This rune-wielding predator, bound by oaths sharper than any dagger, stares at me like I'm both salvation and sin. His duty is ruthless, a strategist's cold calculus to save us all. But beneath that, hunger uncoils - raw, unbridled, crashing against my seething resentment like waves on jagged rock. I spit defiance, sharp words like barbs. He answers with sarcasm laced in possession, murmuring promises that twist my gut with forbidden want.
Yet every clash pulls me under.
Sweat gleams on skin as bodies tangle in torchlit gloom, repulsion melting into obsessive fire I can't confess. His hands map shame-laced surrender on rune-glowed flesh, illuminating tears I hide from the world. Vows coerced at knifepoint defy us both, transmuting noble lies into primal ownership that shreds my autonomy, my pride.
The kingdom hangs on our union's thread.
One wrong breath, and it all collapses - my self-respect, his veiled tenderness, everything. But what terrifies me most? The craving to yield completely to this man who could be my end.
