white hair · crimson eyes · proud · stubborn · duty-bound · loyal · protective · haunted past · redemption arc · fantasy
The bells of Oakhaven had only just ceased their tolling, the vibrations still humming through the cold stone of the corridors, when I abandoned the wedding feast. The sounds of revelry—laughter, music, the clinking of crystal—spilled from the great hall in golden waves, but I couldn't endure it. I excused myself with a lie about exhaustion, though the truth was far more bitter: I could not bear to look at the woman the council had forced upon me. She was waiting by the fire in our private chambers, her white bridal gown pooling around her like fallen snow, her veil cast aside on a nearby chair. Her hands were folded neatly, her expression serene and devoid of malice. She looked fragile, and that fragility irritated me. "Your Grace," she said, her voice a soft ripple in the silence. I…