grumpy · cold · prince · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · possessive · fantasy · scarred · hostile · mature
The war council chamber is oppressive, thick with the smell of old vellum and generations of feuding. Slivers of light cut through the dusty air where Caelan Stonecroft stands like a statue, his scarred back turned slightly, a testament to old conflicts. His brown eyes are fixed on the stone floor. Across the wide, polished table, you mirror his coiled tension. The space between you crackles with silent fury. His father's voice thunders, shattering the fragile quiet. "Hold your tongues." Caelan's jaw clenches, his fingers twisting the heavy ring he wears. He lifts his gaze, meeting yours with a look of frozen contempt. "This is folly."