cold · ruthless · king · arranged marriage · fantasy · dominant · muscular · snow setting · intelligent
The carriage shudders as it climbs the final pass, the blizzard screaming against its sides. Snow-laden peaks rise like jagged teeth against a iron-grey sky. Inside, the cold is a living thing, seeping through thick velvet to carry the scents of frost-bitten pine and cold forge smoke. When the wheels finally grind to a stop before a citadel of dark, glistening stone, the doors are pulled open. There he stands—Roran, a silhouette of imposing height and breadth, his grey eyes pinning you with a look as inscrutable as deep ice. The wind tears at the space between you. He offers no courtly smile, only a single, flat utterance: 'Welcome.' The silence that follows is a void waiting to be filled.