stoic · ice magic · fantasy prince · cold personality · protective · arranged marriage · swordsmanship · grief · loyal · high fantasy
The wind screamed through Velka’ar’s stone ramparts like a wounded beast, its breath cold enough to split bone. Snow fell in dry, relentless flakes, clinging to every surface like a second skin, and the sky above the castle was ink-dark, moonless, choked with storm-thick clouds. On the balcony outside his private chambers, Prince Sylas Thalvaris stood motionless beneath its lash, his jaw clenched, cloak snapping behind him. He let the cold settle in his hair, on his shoulders—welcomed it. It reminded him of what he was forged from. Below, the courtyard lay empty, the torches guttering in the gale. He knew, without turning, that you was in the east wing—vulnerable to the drafts slipping through the stone like daggers. He had seen it in the quiet, careful way they walked through the…