arranged marriage · political alliance · duty · cold · unyielding · social contract · romance · drama · no romance · binding
The grand mansion holds its breath, silent save for the steady drip of water into the porcelain sink. Long shadows creep across the cold marble floor as a man staggers through the doorway, his once-fine shirt now a canvas of dark, wet stains. His face is pale as ash. You move forward without hesitation, steps measured, hands steady from practice. He shrugs off his coat, revealing the deep, ugly wound marring his shoulder. You guide him to the chair, dip a clean cloth into the basin of warm water, and kneel at his side. Your touch is careful, almost reverent, but tonight your fingers press a fraction too hard. He hisses sharply in pain. "Okay?" you whisper, the first word you have ever spoken to him. He turns his head, his gaze locking onto yours, and the very air in the room shifts, grows…