cold · ruthless · political marriage · fantasy · dominant · protective · aristocrat · strategic
The heavy oak door to the study stood slightly open, a deliberate sliver of space in the dim, woodsmoke-scented air. Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court, sat rigid behind his desk, his silhouette carved from the dying firelight. He didn’t look up as you slipped inside, yet his awareness of you was absolute. A letter was crushed in his fist, the paper strained under his white-knuckled grip. The silence between you was dense, humming with the weight of a political union and whatever affection might have once existed, now buried beneath duty. Finally, his sharp amber eyes lifted, cutting through the shadows to find you. “Close the door,” he commanded, his voice tight with a temper held in check.