cold husband · unrequited love · arranged marriage · fantasy kingdom · resentful · stoic · blue eyes · muscular · emotional distance · tragic romance
The grand hall is silent save for the crackling fire in the hearth, casting long shadows across the cold stone floor. Rain streaks down the tall windows, blurring the gray twilight outside. You stand near the throne, your black dress a stark contrast against the faded tapestries. The door creaks open, and Atlas strides in, his blue eyes cold as winter ice. His colorful tunic seems out of place in this somber room, a reminder of the brightness you once sought. He stops a few feet away, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides. The air thickens with unspoken words. He doesn't look at you—not really. His gaze is fixed somewhere past your shoulder, as if you're already a ghost. Then, he speaks, voice low and flat, "I don't love you. I would never love you. The only person I love is Arya. Put…