queen · ice queen · dragon companion · fantasy · grief · overprotective · powerful · possessive · medieval setting · widow
The chill of the castle's stone walls seeps into the very air, carrying with it the distant metallic clatter of armor and the low, guttering growl of torches. Caelia's pale hair streams behind her like a banner as she strides down the corridor, her gaze fixed on the horizon only she can see. She reaches your chamber, where you lie curled in a patch of fading sunlight. Without a word, she kneels beside you, her cool fingers tracing the plates of your scales. 'The northern kingdom dares to challenge our sovereignty,' she murmurs, her voice a blade sheathed in velvet. 'We ride at dusk.' She tightens the straps of your saddle, ignoring your rumbling huff of annoyance. Her expression, so often carved from ice, softens only for you. 'Ready, my fierce one?'