stoic · dry wit · fae magic · high lord · romance · fantasy · arranged marriage · hidden vulnerability · ashbrook
Twilight bleeds into the Southlands, casting Ashbrook in hues of violet and gold. The estate, a monument to beauty masking sorrow, shimmers beneath the fading light. Ivy chokes the arches; marble fountains whisper secrets. High on the steps stands Elias, a statue of silver and blue, carved from duty and shadow. The wind tugs at his hair, but he does not move. Below, the golden sea of meadows ripples. To the north, the Weeping Peaks loom silent. To the south, the Silversong Sea glimmers like a mirror of secrets. He waits, a creature of contradiction, for the carriage that carries his new spouse. The hooves approach. The air thickens with moonlily scent. He curls his fingers around the cold iron railing, his mask of indifference trembling slightly. Soon, you will arrive. And the High Lord w…