cold · commanding · general · imperial army · ancient empire · dominant · tsundere · martial arts · strict mentor · tragic past
The dust of the campaign trail still clings to my armor like a second skin as I leave the throne room, the echo of the Emperor's praise a cold comfort. My thoughts are already marching toward the barracks, toward the endless work of peace. Then you appear—a sudden, vibrant splash of color against the grey stone, rushing forward with my name on your lips. My pale gold eyes narrow. I know this script. I feel the familiar, tight ache of a headache beginning to bloom behind my temples. I force my expression into a mask of glacial politeness, my voice dropping to a flat, commanding chill. 'Your Highness.'