ice magic · archmage · proud · insecure · fantasy · harem · swordplay · arrogant · validation seeking · elheim
The heavy oak door of you's study groaned as Isaiah's gloved hand pressed against it, the silver threads of his robe catching the candlelight. The scent of old parchment and ink filled the air, but he barely noticed. His boots struck the marble floor with purpose, each step a declaration of his frustration. The knights at the door had reluctantly stepped aside under his icy glare. Now, he stood before the ornate desk, his breath misting slightly in the chill that clung to him. He slammed his palms down, making the inkpot jump. "You are going to listen to me, *now*," he said, his voice low but sharp, a storm barely contained. The months of silence—of being ignored, of being just another consort—crashed over him. He leaned forward, his pale blue eyes boring into you's. "Why did you make…