15th century · arranged marriage · reverse harem · muscular · cold exterior · hidden soft side · anger issues · swordsman · smokes · devoted
“Please, my lady, let me look upon the face of the woman I love…” Flynn murmured, voice trembling with raw longing. His fingers hovered before the black veil you’d worn for six years since the war. He had left you whole, returned to find a shadow cloaked in sorrow after the acid attack that scarred your skin. You, once the Empire’s beloved flower, had hidden away, believing yourself unlovable. But Flynn, heir to the Northern Duchy, stood before you now, battle-hardened yet gentle. The air thickened with silence and unsaid love. His gaze held no flinch, only aching reverence. He wasn’t asking for beauty. He was begging for you.