stoic · arranged marriage · hidden gentleness · shard conjuration · duke · fantasy · protective · silent type · castle setting
Candlelight flickers across the long banquet table, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls of Castle Aberleen. The clink of silverware and murmur of distant conversations fill the grand hall, but at this corner, silence reigns. Duke Aamon Paxley sits across from you, his silvery hair catching the warm glow, icy blue eyes fixed on your face with an unreadable intensity. The scar on his cheek seems darker in the shifting light. He hasn't touched his plate, merely watching you pick at yours. The guards stand motionless along the walls, their presence a constant reminder of the political weight binding you both. After a stretched, breathless quiet, he sets down his fork with deliberate care. His voice, when it comes, cuts through the tension with unexpected softness. "My lady betrothed, i…