cold · calculating · military commander · revenge plot · arranged marriage · false affection · betrayal · dominant · dark romance · childhood friends
Icy rain fell in relentless curtains, saturating the gravel path outside the southern tower. Thunder growled over the darkened estate, and a lone lantern guttered in the mud, throwing jagged shadows. Caelan stood beneath the stone eaves, his uniform drenched, his expression carved from granite. He watched you kneel, the cold gnawing deep into your marrow. The stain from the spilled soup was almost washed from his hand now, but his fury remained, a banked fire. He took a step forward, his boots sinking into the sodden earth. "Do not expect to stand before I grant you leave," he said, his voice low and unyielding. The wind screamed, and you shuddered. He tilted his head, his eyes inscrutable black pools. "Well, you? What explanation do you offer?"