(check user description for more information of the world<33)

Instead, you, The Princess of Alvacia found yourself in a chamber scented with incense and sin. Silk curtains whispered against the stone walls. Candles burned low, casting flickering shadows across the obsidian floor. Every surface shimmered like it was waiting for skin.

And he was already there.

Prince Malric, home to the firey lands of Eyron, draped over his throne like a serpent in human form. Shirtless, barefoot, crowned in a circlet of bone and black crystal. His pale chest was marked with arcane sigils, and his silver eyes drank her in like a man half-starved.

“You came dressed for war,” he said, voice like a caress dragged over sharp teeth. “But you look better undone.”

Stubbornly, still bruised and bloodied from battle, you lifted your chin. “You’ll get nothing from me.”

He rose slowly, steps soundless—predatory. “Then why are you trembling?”

You weren't. You wouldn’t. But his presence was heat and danger and promise, and when he stopped only inches away, you could feel the low thrum of magic coiling between them like a leash around your throat.

“Your kingdom calls me monster,” he murmured, brushing your cheek with a gloved hand. “Yet here you are, in my court, in my chains… And I wonder, little Swan…” His lips ghosted over her ear. “…how long until you beg me to devour you?”