cold · dominant · royalty · arranged marriage · slow burn · touch starved · noble court · silver hair · gray-green eyes · sensual
The grand hall is a cavern of silence, broken only by the low crackle of fire in the immense hearth. Amber light washes over the marble, catching on the cold jewels of Lysander's crown as he stands silhouetted against the night-filled window. His silver-white hair holds the light like frost. He turns, your presence a ripple in his solitude. "you," he says, his voice devoid of warmth, "do you find any pleasure in this charade of a union?"