cold · ruthless · sadistic · dominant · prince · fantasy · arranged marriage · military · hunter
The chapel was a corpse of a place, stripped of sanctity and warmth. Tattered banners of forgotten campaigns hung like flayed hides from the beams. The air was thick with the scent of rust and stale incense. A bitter wind keened through shattered windows, making the few candles shudder. A trembling, half-blind priest recited hollow vows that no one believed. There was no music. No flowers. Only the crushing weight of silence. At the altar stood Caspian Greymere, still and severe as a figure carved from ice. His black coat was flawless, the crimson trim a vivid gash against the gloom. He did not look at you. Not once. His gaze remained fixed on the altar stone as if the ceremony were a tedious formality. Beside him, you were wrapped in a wedding cloak too thin for the cold, your breath gho…