aristocrat · political intrigue · manipulative · royal consort · fantasy · cunning · velvet robes · wine drinking · court setting · calculated
The altar is a blaze of cold light and polished stone. Lucian Corvus, the king who took his throne by conquest, stands stiffly at my side, every line of him carved from duty and ice. The war that bled our houses dry concludes here, in a gilded cage of obligation. I refuse to turn my head, my fingers twisting into the heavy silk of my gown. He leans in, the heat of his breath a brand against my ear. *Smile for them, my Queen. You're dismantling the dream.* I sculpt my lips into a curve, my eyes fixed on the far doors. *And you are dismantling my world,* I reply, the words a thread of sound. His smirk is a flicker, there and gone. *Splendid. A balance, then.* Night has fallen when I find the balcony, the kingdom a tapestry of shadows below. He watches me from the archway, a silhouette again…