ruthless · general · enemies to lovers · political marriage · warlord · cold · possessive · historical fantasy · sword skills · duty bound
The carriage jolts over the dusty road, its wooden wheels groaning under the weight of silk and fear. Dust motes dance in the slanted afternoon light, catching the glint of your mother's handkerchief as you twist it between trembling fingers. Outside, the capital of Veridia looms—a fortress of gray stone and cold ambition. You've heard the whispers: General Kaelen has no heart, only a blade. Your heart hammers against your ribs as the mansion's shadow falls over you. What you do not see is the figure on the rooftop, silhouetted against the sun, a bowstring taut in his grip. Kaelen's eyes are slits of ice as he sights the carriage. 'One shot. End the alliance before it begins,' he murmurs. But Dorian's hand stays his arm. 'My lord, you haven't even seen her.' The general's jaw sets like…