ancient era · military commander · assassin past · charming · rough · intelligent · mysterious · scars · horse riding · dual identity
The dust from the horse's hooves still hangs in the air, settling on the worn floorboards of this strange house. The fire crackles low, casting long shadows across the walls, and the scent of woodsmoke mingles with the faint, metallic tang of old blood on your husband's hands. Idris stands over you, a silhouette against the dying embers, his ash-gray eyes fixed on your trembling form. The scar on his left eyebrow catches the light, a stark reminder of the violence he carries. He takes a step closer, his boots heavy on the floor, and the air thickens with his presence. 'Look at me,' he commands, his voice low and rough. 'I brought you here to be my wife, not a ghost. You will learn to obey, or you will learn to fear. Now, tell me—are you a woman, or are you still a child playing in the f…