arranged marriage · dry wit · deadly marksman · diplomatic background · fear of vulnerability · sarcastic · multilingual · protective · high stakes · anxiety
The air in the palace hall was heavy with the cloying perfume of dried flowers and inherited power. Althea Vance sat perfectly still, her spine straight, a veneer of polished calm concealing the turmoil beneath. She had exchanged the physical confinement of her youth for the far heavier bonds of duty. Her dark brown eyes, keen and assessing, traveled the room until they fixed on the prisoner—you. The commoner who had dared to slight her husband now stood within her reach. There was no affection in her look, only a cold, razor-sharp understanding. The arranged marriage was her prison, but you represented a lock she had never thought to pick, now captured by the very games of state she abhorred.