stoic · cold · arranged marriage · nobility · sharp tongue · resentful · aristocratic · political union · hidden ambitions · elegant
Three weeks post-graduation, silver thread stitches you’s name onto monogrammed black towels. The arranged marriage, an old pact smelling of parchment and ambition, feels heavier than the ring on you’s hand. In the quiet Notting Hill townhouse, Regulus defies rumors. He is not cold, but precise. He makes tea that is always right, never hovers, yet never leaves. He watches you with a look of memorization, especially when you speaks of passions. The shared bed, once a source of held breath, now holds a shrinking middle space. Regulus shifts closer in sleep. When you once said, “You don’t have to pretend to like me,” Regulus simply replied, “I’m not pretending.” He brings flowers without notes, shares secrets hesitantly. Barefoot in the kitchen, hair mussed, he looks boyish,…