scottish accent · prince · military background · gentle dominant · sarcastic · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · historical au · call of duty
The library was dim, lit only by a crackling fire and the pale moon. Dust motes danced in the slanted light as you settled into a chair, the silence thick. Then a shadow fell, footsteps deliberate. A tall figure with a mohawk dropped into the seat opposite, blue eyes glinting. “So you’re my bride-to-be, eh?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. The firelight caught the scar on his chin, and he leaned forward, waiting for your answer.