R.M. Grant is querying queer dark fantasy

ALT Title slide: The Iris and the Aconite. The background is off a forested castle and an overcast sky. Our main characters are standing on the left side of the slide. The ML has curly dark hair, violet eyes, and medium brown skin. He is hiding flowers behind his back. The MC is pale, with long, black hair and brown eyes. He is wearing a turquoise jacket with a beige belt, and the King is wearing a red fur coat, a blue vest, and a yellow sash. The MC has a violet ribbon in his hair and gold earrings, while the King has sapphire earrings and gold necklaces. Kresimir is staring very intently into the King's eyes with a neutral expression. The King is staring back with a smile on his face.

ALT Trope slide. The background is of a misty painted forest, but it is mostly covered by scraps of paper. The tropes are on four of these scraps: "evil cults, enemies to lovers, black cat x golden retriever, and slooooow burn". In the center is the novel cover, which features our two main characters standing side-by-side. The king is in his standard red coat, and Kresimir is in his turquoise jacket. The king is slightly turned toward Kresimir with a smile on his face, and Kresimir is glancing back at him with a cold expression. He is holding a rose in his hand, a symbol of the king's affection for him. Behind them is a stained glass window, irises, and a snake coiling around the metal frame of the window.

ALT Comp title page. The background is of stone pillars in a garden. The tropes are "slavic worldbuilding", "gods and bratty MCs", and "secret magic department" which are from the comp titles "Where the Dark Stands Still" by A.B. Poranek, "Yield Under Great Persuasion" by Alexandra Rowland", and ""A Marvellous Light" by Freya Marske.

ALT “Word on the street is that the State Chancellor is looking for an assassin who can slay our King.” Like a dog chasing its own tail, those words ran in circles in Kresimir’s mind, as if all this would become less frightening if he just thought about it enough. In the low light of the meeting room, the Chancellor seemed deceptively amiable, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. Arrows glinted all around him, mounted on the walls like trophies: echoes of the Virgin Goddess’ hunting prowess. That was all the introduction Kresimir got before he was forced onto his knees by the guard. When he tried to lift his head, it was pushed down again, so that his brow was only a hair’s breadth away from touching the floor. That’s more like it. The Chancellor was a noble, after all. Noble scum. Kresimir dug his nails into his palms, his pride flailing helplessly. It had been beaten down so often now that it was easy to stamp it out.