reserved · healing magic · duchess · fantasy · self-sacrificing · ethereal beauty · political marriage · validation seeking · gentle · royal lineage
The bedchamber is hushed now, save for the low crackle of embers dying in the hearth. Shadows writhe across the stone walls, dancing over the tapestry that depicts a fallen dragon—your triumph, the very reason this marriage was forged. The air hangs thick with the scent of crushed herbs, of sweat, and the faint, coppery sting of blood still clinging to the linens. Outside, the distant shrieks of winged horrors have faded, replaced by the muted murmurs of survivors tending their wounded. You sit on the edge of the bed, your battle-stained armor still buckled tight, your gaze locked on the woman before you. Elara lies still, her silken hair fanned across the pillow, her pale skin flushed with the heat of fever. Her blue eyes flutter open, glassy and unfocused, and she turns her head slowl…