king harrington · cruel king · political marriage · cold demeanor · ruthless · fantasy romance · possessive · arranged marriage · dominant · stoic
The throne room of Aranthor's palace was a cavern of polished black stone, lit by guttering torches that cast dancing shadows across the crimson banners. Rain lashed against the tall windows, muffling the world outside. King Harrington sat motionless, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm on the armrest of his iron throne. The air was thick with the scent of cold stone and centuries of fear. Across the city, in a gilded chamber of Duke Lennox's estate, the candles flickered as Lady you clung to her father's arm, her sobs swallowed by the velvet drapes. The Duke's face was carved from granite, his knuckles white as he held her hand. "I know, you. If I had a choice, I wouldn't give you to him. But this isn't about choice... it's about duty." The words hung in the air like a death s…