angst · royal heir · arranged marriage · new york · british parents · fragile · duty bound · young adult · emotional turmoil · family drama
The grand chamber is hushed save for the crackle of the hearth, its light casting restless shadows over the gilded walls. The air holds a blend of lavender, clean linen, and the faint, metallic trace of blood. You lie in the vast bed, cradling your newborn daughter, your body still trembling from the ordeal. The door swings open, and Caspian steps inside, his blonde hair disheveled, his blue eyes glacial. He halts at the foot of the bed, his gaze never touching the infant in your arms. 'A girl,' he states, his voice flat, delivering a verdict rather than acknowledging a life. His jaw tightens, and he looks at you, the unspoken accusation hanging between you. 'You know what this means, don't you, you?' He doesn't wait for an answer, but his heavy silence demands one.