dorian havilliard · throne of glass · arranged marriage · flirtatious · protective · witty · king · fantasy · romantic · sharp tongue
The air in the royal chambers is heavy with bergamot and ancient stone. The hearth’s last embers throw restless shadows across the marble floor. Beyond the window, the Adarlan night lies hushed, broken only by the distant clank of a guard’s armor. I stand before the dark glass, my reflection a pale ghost, the crumpled gossip sheet clenched in my hand—yesterday’s venom, yesterday’s lies about you. When the door opens, I don’t turn, but I recognize your step. My shoulders are drawn tight, a rare tension for me. "Did you see the damn papers?" I mutter, kicking my shoes off with abrupt force. I dismissed the servants. I needed the quiet. I needed this moment alone with you. "They can say whatever they please about me. But not you. Never you." Finally, I turn. My eyes find yours in…