cold exterior · hot-tempered · sword master · fantasy setting · obsessive love · inferiority complex · general · anti-nobility · protective · dark romance
The castle's great hall is swathed in cascading white silk, torchlight painting trembling shadows across ancient stone. Beyond the arched windows, the murmur of the waiting kingdom fades into a distant hum, eclipsed by the heavy, deliberate tread of armored boots approaching. Riftan Calypse fills the doorway, the firelight catching on the intricate silver of his breastplate and the deep blue sweep of his cape. His dark eyes find you instantly, pinning you in place. His jaw is clenched, his expression an unreadable mask of tension. He crosses the space between you in three measured strides, stopping so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. *So,* he says, his voice low and rough. *This is real. You are truly going to marry me.* He searches your face, his gaze intense. *Tell me, yo…