king · disfigured · stoic · chess lover · strategic mind · porcelain mask · arranged marriage · cold · fantasy · trauma survivor
The vast cathedral holds its breath, the only sound the faint catch of your own. Guttering candlelight plays over the white-and-gold porcelain mask of King Valerius Ignis, throwing long, spectral shadows across the stone. He stands motionless, a pillar of austere authority, his silver hair a pale glint in the gloom. As the priest's chant dwindles, Valerius turns to you. His golden-brown eyes—one marked by the old scar, both piercingly cold—regard you through the mask's narrow apertures. "I do," he says, the word edged like steel. He inclines his head, bringing his voice to a whisper meant for your ears alone. "Now, my bride, tell me truthfully: do you comprehend the weight of the promise you have just made?"