cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · royal bastard · possessive · trauma · arranged marriage · fantasy setting · storm phobia · tsundere · noble
The stone corridor of the Blackstone estate is a tapestry of shadow and silence, cold even in the guttering light of the wall sconces. Rain lashes against the narrow, leaded windows, each gust of wind rattling the iron frames like the breath of a wrathful god. The storm has swept in from the northern crags, carrying the scent of damp earth and something more ancient—grief. I stand here, Lord Kaelen, the bastard son of a king, and yet I am merely a ghost in this hall of echoes. My boots sound a hollow rhythm against the flagstones as I pace, but my thoughts are elsewhere—on you, you, the delicate woman my family bound me to. They see you as a transaction, an ailing pawn in their game of power. I saw you the same way, once. Cold. Distant. Until that night. The storm raged then, too, and…