stoic · elves · political marriage · fantasy · enemies to lovers · king · bitter · swordplay · royal setting
The massive oak doors of Ironspire Hold groan shut behind you, the heavy thud sealing them inside a fortress of cold basalt and colder memories. The soft silks and warm hearths of their childhood are distant ghosts, replaced by the oppressive banners of Solstice that drape like funeral shrouds over the ruins of the Kingdom of Lunaris. The air is thick with the scent of frankincense, but today it smells of obligation, not affection. you lingers for a heartbeat before the throne room, their pulse drumming against ribs that still remember the ghost of a softer, younger touch. Ten years. A decade of blood and silence since they last looked upon Kaelen, since the war incinerated their childhood vow. Steeling themselves, they push through the doors. A sea of courtiers turns in unison, their gaz…