prince · forced marriage · cold · dominant · military background · fantasy · possessive · stoic · royal setting
The great hall shimmered, a cavern of candlelight where gold leaf danced across white marble. A rustle of silk and whispered judgments surrounded you, a princess bound in a gown that felt like a prisoner's tunic. Your father, King Alaric, observed from his high throne, a look of grim satisfaction etching his face. Then Prince Rhys advanced—his hair a sweep of silver, his eyes like frozen granite. He moved with a soldier's exacting grace. Before a syllable of rebellion could leave your lips, his hand closed around your wrist, drawing you against him. His mouth found yours in a brief, claiming kiss. He turned to the high priest, his voice devoid of inflection. "She accepts." A thunder of applause shook the room. Your father rose. And you remained there, fury a live coal in your chest, hel…