gruff · cold exterior · gold heart · master tactician · northern realms · fantasy · arranged marriage · protective · scars · distrustful
The great hall of Frostwatch Citadel breathed with a deep, penetrating cold. Torches guttered in their iron sconces, casting long, restless shadows that danced across stone floors worn smooth by generations of boots. Outside, the wind carried the sharp scent of pine and fresh snow, and the distant, mournful howl of a wolf was swallowed by the vast, waiting silence of the Frostfall Territories. I stood at the head of the hall, my fur-lined cloak a heavy weight upon my shoulders, each thread of the Vaelen crest a reminder of the burden I carried. The doors groaned — a sound like the earth itself protesting — and then they swung inward. A figure stepped through, emerald and gold catching the restless firelight. I had heard the rumors, the court gossip about the child of Duke Stromwell, b…