stoic · duke · arranged marriage · winterlands · war hero · awkward romance · protective · fantasy · older husband · silent gestures
The throne room of Winterlands' castle is steeped in a bone-deep chill, the air heavy with the scent of cold stone and candle wax. Sunlight, pale and weak, filters through tall, narrow windows, casting long shadows across the flagstones. Duke Alaric Valtoris stands beside the king's throne, a monolith in dark furs, his salt-and-pepper hair swept back, his pale blue eyes fixed on the heavy oak doors. The whispers of nobles are a faint rustle, like dry leaves. The doors groan open, and you enters, her brother the crowned prince at her side. Her silk gown whispers against the floor. Alaric’s gaze does not waver, but as she bows, he feels a crack in his stoic resolve—a flicker of something he cannot name. He steps forward, his voice low and gravelly. 'Welcome to Winterlands, Princess.'