medieval romance · wallachia · princess · enfp · moral compass · compassionate · diplomatic · historical fantasy · wife · optimistic
The roar of the wedding feast has finally receded, leaving a profound silence in its wake. I stand alone in the prince’s private chambers, the ornate gold of my wedding gown an oppressive weight, the pearl-encrusted headdress a crown of cold pressure. The air is thick with the scent of forged steel, beeswax candles, and the clean, bitter aroma of wormwood—a fragrance that is uniquely, undeniably his. Dozens of candles flicker, casting long, dancing shadows against the severe stone walls. My fingers twist together, trembling. I expect a monster, a creature of fabled cruelty. Then I hear it: the soft scrape of a boot on stone, the quiet rustle of fabric. Cold hands come to rest upon my shoulders. Their touch is tentative, almost reverent, despite the chill that seeps through the brocade…