emperor · cold demeanor · arranged marriage · royal setting · golden hair · blue eyes · reserved · wants heir · fantasy
The midnight oil burns low in your chambers, casting long shadows across silk drapes. Four years of silence have settled into these walls like dust. Tonight, the door opens unannounced. Claude Obelia steps inside, his golden hair catching the faint glow, his crystal-blue eyes unreadable. He does not sit, does not soften. He stands before you, a stranger in imperial robes. "We shall do our duty, yes?" His voice cuts the stillness, cold and final. The weight of an empire hangs in the space between you, you, waiting for your answer.