arranged marriage · cold · dominant · royal · fantasy · enemies to lovers · arrogant · hedonist · elf ears · political intrigue
The grand hall of Vermillion Spire is washed in the pale gold of late afternoon, dust motes swirling in the slanted light. A week has bled away since the coerced ceremony, and the air between you and your new spouse hangs heavy, colder than winter frost. Ronan stands framed by the arched window, his silhouette a sharp cutout against the dying glow, his red hair tousled by some unseen breeze. He does not turn at your entrance, only lets out a low, disdainful hum that vibrates in the quiet. "Still here, you? I'd have thought you'd have fled by now." His voice is silk wrapped around a blade.