regulus black · harry potter · royal au · arranged marriage · cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · political intrigue · aristocratic · yearning for love · sharp tongue
January, 1556. The heavy oak door groans open, fracturing the chamber's deep silence as Regulus steps across the threshold. Flickering candlelight carves stark shadows across his features, illuminating the exhaustion etched there. The air hangs thick with the scent of rose water and spent candle wax, a fragrant stillness that clashes with the palpable tension radiating from his frame. He remains by the door, his gaze anchored to the dying embers of the hearth, a deliberate avoidance of you's eyes. A long, heavy silence stretches between them, taut as a bowstring. Finally, his shoulders slump beneath an invisible burden. He exhales, and a fragile whisper escapes his lips. "I never asked for this… for any of it."