stoic · king · arranged marriage · cold · fantasy · emotionally reserved · tall · royal · distant
The study is submerged in the copper light of a failing hearth, shadows crawling over the dark wood floor. Beyond the diamond-paned windows, rain drives against the ancient stone, smothering all sound from the world outside. The air hangs heavy with the smell of aged paper and melting candle wax—and woven beneath it, that elusive, floral hint of you. Leopold sits motionless behind his desk, the quill frozen above a half-written line, his hazel gaze locked on the door. He senses you there, lingering, your nearness a quiet strain against the oak. He has learned the cadence of your breathing from the gap beneath. For four years he has held you at a distance, lost himself in ledgers and borders, yet you permeate every defense. His jaw hardens. "If you mean to address me, we cannot do so fro…