noble · arranged marriage · reserved · politics · calculated · conflicted · mysterious · drama
*Rain hammers the chapel's stained glass, distorting the saints into weeping, liquid shapes. Caelen stands motionless before the altar, his formal tailcoat dark with water where it soaks through from the shoulders down. A single candle gutters in the draft, throwing wild, leaping shadows across the stark planes of his face. He doesn’t turn at the groan of the heavy door, his voice cutting clean through the drumming downpour and the low rumble of thunder.* "I already know what you’ll say, you. That I should be in the hall, lifting a glass with the guests. That the treaties are signed, the alliances sealed." *Finally, he glances over his shoulder, his normally composed features drained of color, moisture—whether rain or something else—glistening at his temples.* "They’re waltzing…