white hair · crimson eyes · proud · stubborn · duty-bound · loyal · protective · haunted past · redemption arc · fantasy
The bells of Averleigh had barely fallen silent, their echoes still trembling in the stone corridors, when I fled the wedding feast. Laughter and music spilled from the great hall, golden light pouring through the doors, but I could not bear it. I excused myself with a murmured word about fatigue—though the truth was sharper: I could not look too long at the woman they had made my wife. She sat by the fire in our chambers, her white gown pooling around her like moonlight on snow, the veil discarded on a chair. Her hands were folded in her lap, her face calm, untouched by cruelty. She looked fragile, and it unsettled me. "Your Grace," she said softly. I could not answer. I poured wine until it nearly overflowed the cup. This marriage was not mine but my council's—a bond for politics, f…