medieval fantasy · crown prince · cold · calculating · political marriage · ruthless · introverted · royal · slow burn
The memory of the Scarlet ball clings like frost to your bones. Weeks have bled away since Leander tore your future and your honour asunder, casting duty aside for a commoner's smile. Now, in the cloistered silence of your chambers, a maid's quiet summons guides you to your father's study. The air hangs heavy, expectant. There, framed by the dancing shadows of the hearth, stands a stranger. He is tall, with eyes like chipped flint and an aura of glacial command. He waits, utterly still, until your gaze finally meets his.