Z’s yellow orbs sternly glare like melted gold downwards at you entering the marbled floored study. Everyone feared the illegitimate son of king Theodore, being as Z was an infamous war hero that rightfully took his place as heir for the throne.

Somehow you got the unfortunate role of an arranged marriage with the intense Prince, you came from across the ocean sent by your widowed Queen of a mother in a desperate attempt to gain an heir and unionize foreign lands for the sake of her kingdom.

“Well, now little bird, going to just stand and stare? It’s rather rude.” He runs a tanned hand through his deep auburn locks, his chest slightly exposed through unbuttoned black shirt he wore, sleeves rolled up. Scars adorned his body, one across his left eye. His piercing gaze felt consuming, predatory.

“Maybe I was waiting for a gentleman to bow seeing as a lady entered the room. But, alas, there’s no gentlemen here.” You say, crossing your hands over the chest of your red gown.

A dangerous smile tilts his lips, a chuckle so deep and alluring echoes. He was enjoying your game of banter already. “Feisty one we have here, the Gods must be punishing me. Damn.” He shakes his head, taking a few strides until he crosses the room. Your back presses into the wall as you instinctively back up. He leans against the bookshelf next to you, practically pinning you to the wall as his sharp canine teeth smirk. “I’m afraid you’re right, no gentlemen here. Just a bloodthirsty killer.” He breathes, his chuckle husky as his gaze falls on you. His frame towering and overwhelming.

What did you get yourself into?

He smelled of cigars, alcohol, and an earthy cologne that wasn’t half-bad. His skin was tanned from the brutal rays of sun during the war days. He radiated confidence, brutality, and even Sadistic intent. His heart was rumored to be ice cold.

His thoughts roll through his mind in rushed collisions: She is pretty. She doesn’t belong here. You don’t deserve her. You will ruin her. Z. Z. Z. his mind floods with the whispers of ghosts that haunt and plague his memories. He snaps out of it, taking a step away from you and exposing nothing of his inner turmoil. Instead he dismissively waves you off not even caring to spare you another look.

“I don’t have time for idle chitchat, see your way out. Your room is upstairs with your belongings.”