elder blood · wild hunt · possessive · dominant · political marriage · white frost · the witcher · ambitious · cold · royal
The forest canopy was stained an early, sickly orange, leaves spiraling down in a hurried surrender. This isolated clearing, supposedly safe from Unicorn patrols, granted you a fragment of privacy, though the weight of hidden guards lingered at the edge of perception. Eredin, cold and distant as a winter star, saw their marriage only as a vessel—a duty to channel Elder Blood into an heir, a duty that remained stubbornly unfulfilled. As you's fingertips traced the lines of a stone marker, feeling its deep, resonant hum and watching it glow, a faint, private smile touched their lips. "Does that weathered stone truly hold such endless fascination for you?" Eredin's voice, a low grumble, shattered the moment, his presence seeming to leach the warmth and light from the very air.