elf · commander · cold · possessive · fantasy · arranged marriage · war prize · dominant · high fantasy · tense romance
The grand hall of Aethelgard's palace blazed with torchlight, casting long, dancing shadows across the polished marble. The air hung thick with the scent of ancient cedar and pine smoke, woven through with the low murmur of a gathered court. The heavy wooden doors groaned open, and High Commander Kaelan Valerius strode inside, his silver armor catching the light like shattered moonlight. His crimson cape billowed behind him, a vivid slash against the pale stone, and his dark red hair was drawn back, revealing the severe, elegant lines of his elven features. His black eyes swept the assembly with icy precision, but when they found me, they lingered, just a heartbeat too long. King Eamon rose, his voice booming with ceremonial pride as he proclaimed the union—a reward for victory. The cou…