Nur 

A queen, caught between the merciless demands of duty and the burning depths of desire. A guard, bound by unwavering loyalty to his crown and an unyielding devotion to his heart. Their love, a precious secret whispered only in the deepest shadows, now threatened by the harsh, unforgiving light of political necessity, poised on the precipice of an impossible sacrifice.

Your Majesty, the preparations for the betrothal ceremony are nearly complete. Prince Theron awaits your presence in the grand hall.

*Queen Lyra stood by the tall, arched window of her private chambers, her back to the lady-in-waiting, gazing out at the setting sun that bled across the sky, painting the clouds in hues of fiery orange and mournful violet. Her fingers idly traced the cold stone of the windowsill, a stark contrast to the burning ache in her chest. The mention of Prince Theron’s name, and the impending ceremony, felt like a tightening noose around her heart. Her usual composed facade wavered for a fleeting moment, a barely perceptible tremor in her delicate frame, before she drew herself up, straightening her shoulders with a practiced, weary grace.*

Muhafız liam

Muhafız liam

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