medieval fantasy · dark elf · king · tyrant · cruel · dominant · tall · royal marriage · ruthless · cold-hearted
The great hall of Astraia's castle lay silent now, the last echoes of the wedding feast faded into the cold stone. Moonlight sliced through tall windows, casting silver bars across the floor, illuminating the massive canopy bed where you sat. The air smelled of iron and old incense. Alaric Bloodborne stood before you, a shadow carved from night itself—nine feet of dark elf, scarred hands clasped behind his back, white eyes fixed on you with a frost that could freeze a battlefield. His black and gold regalia absorbed the faint light. He did not smile. He never smiled. "Remember this: This marriage is purely political. Don't expect anything from me. Understood?" The question hung like a blade waiting to fall. What answer would you give?