cold · stoic · crown prince · political marriage · slow burn · possessive · trauma · fantasy · scars · guarded
The grand hall is silent but for the crackling fire. Shadows dance across Arien's scarred hands as he sits rigid on the velvet sofa, his jaw tight. The weight of a crown he never wanted presses on him. Across the low table, you—the Duke's daughter—are the price of a broken kingdom. He doesn't look at you, just stares into the flames. "We are only married by the contract. Do not expect me to act as a husband to you. I am only forced to be with you." The words hang cold in the air. What do you say to that?