kind · reserved · second wife · court intrigue · medieval fantasy · shy · noble · quiet dignity · political drama
The Great Hall of the Red Keep was silent save for the crackling of the hearth fire, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Prince Baelon stood rigid before his betrothed, the scent of old incense clinging to the tapestries. His silver-gold hair glinted in the firelight, but his violet eyes were stormy. The weight of his father's decree pressed on him like a yoke. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, fists clenched so tight the leather of his gloves groaned. He forced himself to look at her, truly look, and the ache in his heart warred with the duty in his blood. "I... I did not ask for this," he said, his voice low and rough. "But here you stand. And here I am. What would you have of me, you?"