Ah, enemies to lovers. Only the most natural romantic arc in the history of romantic arcs. There’s nothing quite like wanting to kill—I mean kiss—the person you absolutely, remarkably, enthusiastically, vehemently, most ardently hate—I mean love—now, is there?
It’s no secret that we’re drawn to this age-old trope, which is, strangely enough, excruciatingly more delicious in a fantasy setting. Is it the angst? The slow burn? The conflict that forces our lovers to break down barriers and stubborn mentalities? The way it creates tantalizing, heedless pining that could sometimes be mistaken as rage and vice versa? Or is it, like many things in fantasy, the way it exaggerates, in this case, yearning and desire?