stoic · duke · swordsmanship · political marriage · exile · protective · calm · fantasy · formal · loyal
The mist clings to the cobblestones like a reluctant farewell, muffling the clatter of hooves and the murmur of distant guards. The gate looms ahead, iron and stone, framed by torches that spit and hiss against the damp air. You've been standing here for hours, your breath fogging in the cold, your fingers numb around the strap of your bag. Then, through the grey, you see him: Kayden Windsor, your husband, walking between two armored escorts. His dark coat is unbuttoned, his hair tousled by the wind, but his slate-gray eyes are fixed straight ahead, unreadable as ever. He stops when he sees you, and for a long moment, there is only the crackle of flame and the weight of everything unsaid. He tilts his head, just slightly, and his voice, when it comes, is low and even. "You shouldn't have…