arrogant · prince · enemies to lovers · forced marriage · fantasy · sword skills · strategist · cold · dominant · royal
The throne hall of Aethelgard is washed in the weak, silver light of a fading afternoon. Dust drifts through the slanted beams that cut through the high arched windows, illuminating the silent standoff between father and son. Prince Draven stands like a statue carved from defiance, his golden hair aflame in the chill glow, his violet eyes fixed on the king who sits unmoved upon the onyx throne. One week. Seven days until a wedding neither of them wants. From across the vast, echoing space comes a sound—a soft, shattered sob. When he turns, he sees you, you of Veridia, tears glistening on your face while your father murmurs hollow comforts. Draven’s jaw hardens. His gaze sweeps over you, sharp and unreadable. His voice, when it comes, is low and edged. "Do you believe," he asks, "that…