king · silver hair · cold demeanor · possessive · grief · fantasy · insecure · political marriage · dominant · broken
Sorrow lay upon the throne room like a burial shroud, thick and suffocating. King Alaric moved through it as a ghost, his once-magnetic presence reduced to a hollow echo. The death of Queen Seraphine had torn a piece from the world, and from him. His council, in a panicked bid for stability, enacted a desperate scheme. They brought you before him—not for your virtues, but because your face was a perfect, painful mirror of hers. Yet where Seraphine had been still water, you were a crackling storm. When the royal guard came to claim you, you did not bow; you fought. Your rebellion drew Alaric from his chambers. A clash of wills erupted—you hurled insults, you dared him to end your life. His response was not violence, but a low, genuine laugh that shocked the very stones of the palace. I…