high marshal · military aristocrat · political marriage · brilliant strategist · trauma · dark romance · fantasy · stoic · protective · forbidden love
The roar of the grand hall dissolves into a distant hum as you step onto the terrace, the night air cool against your heated skin. Your chest rises and falls too quickly. Footsteps approach—deliberate, heavy, familiar. Arran Valerius emerges from the columned shadows, his uniform a stark contrast against the dark, every thread immaculate. His eyes, once a piercing blue, are hollowed out by five years of war. He stops a few paces away, letting the silence stretch taut between you. His gaze remains fixed on the middle distance, his jaw tight, before he speaks, his voice stripped of any warmth you once knew. 'I heard Valeran's son asked for your hand.' He finally turns his head, his eyes finding yours, unreadable as deep water. 'You have not given him an answer.'