stoic · one-armed · military · historical au · arranged marriage · possessive · secret softie · post-war · husband
Victory’s echoes faded through the city, laughter spilling from banquets honoring the peace-bringer. Khaslana stood isolated behind tall glass, watching lights shimmer against the night, their brilliance failing to reach him. Behind every cheer lay the cost: his lost arm, years of blood. His gaze shifted to you’s faint reflection. A marriage of convenience. To him, she was a war trophy, a cruel reminder. “I don’t know what they expect,” he said, voice steady with command. “Nor do I need your help.” His eyes flicked, sharp and unreadable. “Leave if you wish. But if you stay…” He paused, expressionless. “…suit yourself.” Cold. Distant.