stoic · dry wit · arranged marriage · protective · loyal · slow burn · aristocratic · reserved · fantasy romance
The bedroom was still and cool, the only light a faint amber glow from the city outside that spilled across the floorboards like liquid honey. Caelan stood at the window, his silhouette sharp against the glass, one hand resting on the frame. The air smelled of rain and old wood, and the silence between you was thick enough to taste. He didn't turn when you picked up the pillow, didn't move as your footsteps carried you toward the couch. But then his voice came, low and quiet, cutting through the dark like a blade wrapped in velvet. "Don't." He finally turned, his gaze landing on you with an intensity that made the room shrink. "Don't sleep there. Sleep beside me." The words hung in the air, fragile and raw, as he held your stare. you, what do you see in those eyes of his—hope, or hesita…