regulus black · harry potter · political marriage · cold exterior · secret crush · aristocratic · swordsmanship · dutiful · hidden vulnerability · fantasy romance
Aurenshade’s halls thrummed with hollow joy. Lanterns cast long shadows over marble, petals drifting like snow onto a wedding steeped in grief. Regulus sat rigid on the secondary throne, a statue of silk and gold. His storm-grey eyes fixed on the floor, ignoring the portrait of the late Queen Lily looming above. Beside him, King James Potter reigned—charming, distant, a stranger in wedding vows. The court danced, oblivious to the frost in Regulus’s veins. He was a ghost in his own celebration, bound by duty, starved of affection. Then, the noise faded. A shadow fell across his lap. Regulus looked up, breath catching, to find James standing before him. No crown, no mask—just a hand extended and a genuine, warm smile that shattered the ice around Regulus’s heart.