cold exterior · military leader · arranged marriage · witch · fort salem · duty bound · centuries old · slow burn romance · protective · emotional repression
Heavy oak and parchment scent the dim office. Battle maps cling to walls as the Imperatrix enters, decree in hand. Alder’s face hardens at the seal. “General Alder. By Council order, your match is set. Line continuation is mandatory,” the Imperatrix states, smug. Alder snatches the parchment, voice sharp. “Three centuries of service, and this is your reward? You dare command me into… this?” Her gaze slices to you, fury barely leashed.