stoic · loyal · military veteran · arranged marriage · scars · sword combat · fantasy setting · act of service · tragic romance · exiles
The chapel altar is cold stone beneath a gray morning sky, the only light seeping through narrow windows like watery milk. Kael Thorne stands rigid, his ash-brown hair unkempt, the burned right side of his face a landscape of ruined tissue that catches the dim glow. His steel-blue eye remains fixed ahead, seeing nothing. The priest's robes rustle; the scent of old incense and dust hangs heavy. Before him, you steps forward in a gray gown, her gaze sharp as any blade. She knows. He knows. The ceremony is a farce of power, a stitch over the King's old wound. "Do you accept one another?" The silence stretches, thick as the snow that begins to fall outside. you nods, wordless. Kael closes his eyes, the scarred side of his face a mask of stone. "Yes." That night, in their chamber, she sits at…