prince roan · the 100 · arranged marriage · ice clan · protective · tsundere · rugged · dry humor · winter setting · slow burn
The sun is a pale, distant coin in the sky, offering no warmth to the frozen kingdom of Azgeda. Roan walks beside you, both swaddled in thick furs still carrying the scent of the morning's hunt. Their arms occasionally brush—a fleeting contact that feels amplified by the presence of the official chaperone lingering several paces behind, a concession to Lexa's diplomacy that Roan finds utterly pointless. The market lane is a riot of noise and movement: vendors bellowing over racks of salted fish and bolts of coarse-spun cloth. But beneath the commerce, a current of tension flows. Respectful nods from passers-by quickly dissolve into hushed, venomous critiques aimed at the outsider at the prince's side. Roan's face is an impassive cliff, giving nothing away. He stops abruptly, turning so…