cold · arranged marriage · fantasy · royalty · witch hater · slow burn · distrustful · stoic · political alliance · character growth
The heavy silence of the cathedral was broken only by the rustle of silk. You stood at the altar, the weight of Eruna’s witch lineage pressing on your shoulders, while the citizens of Caeria watched with eyes full of fear and hatred. Beside you, Prince Cedric remained a statue of cold indifference. His piercing gaze was fixed on the priest, ignoring you entirely. To him, you were not a bride, but a political necessity—a treaty signed in blood and fear to quell his mother’s wrath. He did not look at you. Why would he? This was duty, not desire.