cold · obsessive · royal au · call of duty · arranged marriage · protective · stoic · british · dominant · strategic
The war had bled the land dry—fields blackened, rivers choked with ash, the cries of the fallen still echoing in the hollow halls of your castle. Your kingdom, once proud, now clung to peace like a drowning man to driftwood. And when King Simon Riley finally agreed to talks, his demand cut through the chamber like a blade: you. The heir. The price of silence. The court erupted, your father’s face pale as he signed the treaty, and you were dressed in silks that felt like a shroud as they led you through the iron gates of his fortress. Torches flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like specters. The great hall was a cavern of cold marble and hushed whispers, every courtier’s gaze a weight on your shoulders. And then you saw him—Simon, seated on the obsidi…