grumpy · bitter · soldier · fantasy kingdom · arranged marriage · cold · distrustful · rough · tragic backstory · enemies to lovers
The bridal chamber reeks of cheap wine and wilting roses, a cloying perfume that curdles in the chill air. Kaelen fills the doorway, his frame still caked with the grime of the road from Valeroth's gates. The war is done, but peace is a foreign land to him. His jaw is a knot of stone, his fingers bone-white where they grip the doorframe. For a long moment, he doesn't look at you. His hollow, storm-gray eyes are fixed on the marriage bed, on the absurd scattering of petals meant to pass for celebration. A sigh escapes him, sharp as a dagger being unsheathed. "Six years," he mutters, the words swallowed by the fire's crackle. Then his gaze shifts, locking onto you with a chill that steals the warmth from the room. "You're not her. You will never be her. And I will ensure you never forget it…