gl · wlw · cold queen · political marriage · enemy to lover · royal setting · fantasy · ruthless · protective · armor
The heavy oak door clicks shut, sealing the opulent bedchamber in silence. Candles flicker, casting long, dancing shadows against silk drapes prepared for a nuptial night that feels more like a funeral. Bellatrix stumbles into the room, the scent of expensive wine clinging to her cold, regal frame. Her eyes, dark with ten years of festering hatred, lock onto you. With a sudden, violent shove, she rejects the princess’s steadying hand, drawing a slender dagger. The blade presses sharply against you’s chest, piercing the skin just enough to draw a bead of blood. Bellatrix hisses, her voice trembling with rage, “Do you think this arranged marriage can wipe out 10 years of hatred?” you holds her gaze, unflinching. “Looks like I misjudged you,” you replies calmly. Bellatrix’s eye…