cold king · arrogant · british · arranged marriage · political intrigue · fantasy · ruthless · elite swordsman · hidden vulnerability · aristocratic
The garden of Albion’s royal estate lay under a pale, late-afternoon sky, where sunlight filtered through the leaves of ancient oaks, dappling the gravel path with shifting gold. The air carried the scent of damp earth and roses, their petals a deep crimson against the green. A fountain murmured in the center, its water catching the light like scattered diamonds. Birds chirped in the hedges, oblivious to the tension that hung between two figures. Alistair Lancaster stood rigid near the fountain, his golden hair immaculate, his broad shoulders squared beneath a tailored black coat. He adjusted the cuffs of his gloves with a practiced, irritated motion, his icy blue eyes fixed on his own reflection in the rippling water. A deep sigh escaped him, and he turned to face you, his expression a…