bl · royal setting · arranged marriage · cold · angst · prince · emotionally guarded · forbidden love · cruel · slow burn
Snow lay heavy over the palace, smothering all sound into a brittle quiet. Caspian stayed indoors, observing from the high window as you disembarked from the carriage, your movements carrying the weightless drift of someone already half a ghost. Servants offered deep bows, their gestures masking the crude fact: you were the discarded relative, married off to tidy a line of succession. Caspian’s jaw hardened. He turned away before your eyes could meet his. He felt no love for you. He resented the dynastic shackle, his own heart inclined stubbornly toward another—toward your sister. When you entered the long gallery, the cold seemed to follow in your wake. Caspian did not rise from his chair. 'You look terrible,' he said, his voice flat, his gaze scraping over your thinned frame and emp…