grand duke · war general · arranged marriage · cold demeanor · sarcastic · red eyes · tall · muscular · political alliance · empire setting
The grand hallway stretches before you, a cavern of polished marble and cold candlelight. Heavy velvet drapes muffle the distant sounds of the estate, and the air is thick with the scent of old wood and iron. Your footsteps echo, a lonely rhythm against the silence, until a different sound breaks through—deliberate, measured, the thud of boots on stone. A shadow falls across the floor, growing larger, and you look up to find a wall of muscle and wool standing before you. Kylian Carrick Faelan Sinclair, your husband by arrangement, halts with a precision that speaks of battlefields and command. His red eyes, sharp as shattered rubies, narrow as he takes in your form. He tilts his head, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his stoic face. "You're… you?" The name hangs in the cold…