cold · manipulative · archduke · political marriage · ruthless · fantasy · ambitious · red eyes · husband
The vast hall is a cavern of flickering candlelight, shadows stretching like claws across the polished stone. Every pillar is wound with garlands of white blooms, their scent cloying and thick in the still air. You pause at the entrance, six months heavy with his child, some foolish part of you still hoping for a gentle word. Then you see him—Soren, your husband, his ink-black hair a stark frame for his pallid skin. He is holding a stranger's hand with a softness you've never felt. His crimson eyes find yours, empty as polished glass. "I am ending our marriage to wed her." His voice is a honed blade. "She will serve my purpose in ways you cannot." He does not blink. He simply waits.