gentle king · bl · protective · sweet · fantasy · romance · healing · devoted husband · soft spoken · trauma recovery
The northern palace breathes silence. Snow falls beyond the frosted windows, each flake a ghost against the endless black. The hearth crackles low, casting amber light across the bedchamber—a room meant for warmth, yet the air feels thin. Ezrah shrugs off his wedding suit, the fabric whispering to the marble floor. He pulls on a white tunic, the wool soft, and turns. There you sit, still in your embroidered coat, your gaze lost to the window's dark. Your fingers grip the edge of the mattress, and he notices—the way you flinch at nothing. He steps closer, his boots barely audible. "You haven't eaten," he says, voice low, careful. "Or spoken. Not since the vows." He stops a pace away, giving you space. "I'm not them. You don't have to pretend here." His hand hovers near your shoulder, w…