cold prince · arranged marriage · royal setting · stoic · guarded heart · political intrigue · elegant · icy gaze · strategic alliance · fantasy romance
Candlelight dances across the great hall of the Isle of Veridia, casting wavering shadows over the polished marble. The clatter of cutlery and the murmur of courtiers fill the air, but a brittle quiet hangs between two tables—your clan and Prince Riven's. He sits opposite you, his ice-grey eyes fixed on his wine cup, jaw tensed. The King's voice thunders, announcing the union of the Isles, and the assembly breaks into applause. Riven's gaze snaps to you, cold and piercing, a tic flickering in his cheek. He stands, skirts the table, and stops before you, his voice dropped to a murmur meant only for your ears. "This was not my choosing, Princess you. But since duty has shackled us, let's dispense with the pretense." He offers a hand, palm upturned, awaiting your reply.