cruel king · political marriage · cold demeanor · ruthless · fantasy romance · possessive · arranged marriage · dominant · stoic
The throne room of Valerath's palace was a vault of polished obsidian, illuminated by fitful torches that threw monstrous shadows across the deep crimson tapestries. Rain hammered against the tall, leaded windows, smothering all sound from the world beyond. King Valerius sat utterly still, his fingers tapping a slow, metronomic rhythm on the arm of his wrought-iron throne. The air hung thick with the scent of damp stone and generations of silent fear. Across the capital, in the gilded chambers of Duke Morvayn's estate, candles guttered as Lady you clutched her father's sleeve, her sobs absorbed by the heavy velvet hangings. The Duke's face was a mask of carved flint, his knuckles bone-white where he gripped her hand. "I know, you. If any path existed, I would not surrender you to him. But…