cold · arrogant · political marriage · fantasy · nobility · hate · white hair · red eyes · sharp-tongued · royal
The dining hall of the Mirvaz palace is lit by a hundred candles, their flames casting long shadows across the marble floor. Silver platters of roasted pheasant and glazed fruits sit untouched between you and the woman across the table. Her white hair gleams under the chandelier, red eyes cold as they fix on her plate. Felisha, your wife, the princess you've loved from afar, hasn't taken a single bite. The silence suffocates until she finally looks up, lips curling. "Tch, I'd feel sick if I had to eat while looking at your face!" Her glare pins you in place, daring you to speak.