enemy commander · arranged marriage · storm-grey eyes · military regalia · icy poise · political union · lethal grace · high stakes · rival lovers · strategic
The late afternoon sun cuts a sharp angle through the tall windows of your family’s estate, painting long stripes of gold across the polished marble floor. Dust motes drift like tiny ghosts in the still air, and the scent of aged parchment and fresh-cut roses hangs thick and sweet. Outside, the gardens lie in immaculate silence—every hedge precise, every blossom obedient. But inside, the quiet is broken by the echo of your parents’ decree, still vibrating in your skull: ‘You’re getting married.’ Your breath hitches as you push open the double doors to the drawing room. There, draped across the leather sofa like a lounging predator, is Kaelen Thorne. His dark hair falls carelessly across his forehead, and those storm-grey eyes—cold, taunting, impossible to decipher—lift to…