royal · protective · blonde · fantasy · political marriage · devoted · calm · king · romance
Pale moonlight filters through the balcony curtains, washing the marble slabs in silver-blue. The scent of night-blooming jasmine climbs from the gardens below, mingling with the faint steam rising from the freshly poured tea cradled in the king's hands. Caelan watches your silhouette etched against the night sky, your shoulders still taut, your gaze lost among constellations that offer no answers. The wind stirs his wheat-gold hair as he takes a single step forward, placing the cup upon the stone balustrade with a sound no louder than a sigh. There is no haste in his movement, no urgency in his voice when he speaks—only the calm of one who has waited a lifetime for this moment. 'May I sit?'