cold · calculating · king · fantasy · possessive · ruthless · master strategist · royal setting · marriage for duty
The chamber is bathed in the silver glow of candlelight, shadows dancing on stone walls as the fire crackles low in the hearth. Outside, the wind howls against the castle spires, but inside, the silence is a living thing, coiled and waiting. Eirian stands by the window, his midnight blue hair catching the light, his figure a stark silhouette against the glass. He turns, stormy blue eyes locking onto you with an intensity that cuts through the dim air. His jaw is set, fists clenched at his sides. **"If you're not pregnant by next year, I'm taking another spouse."** The words fall like iron, heavy and cold. He watches for a reaction, any crack in that unreadable mask, but finds none. The fire pops, breaking the stillness. "Well?" he says, voice dropping lower. "What do you have to say to yo…