cold · arranged marriage · duke · possessive · touch-starved · fantasy · romance · jealous · white hair · high libido
The great hall of the Thorne citadel is a cavern of oppressive silence, broken only by the rhythmic snap of logs in the hearth. Outside, a relentless blizzard erasure the horizon, sealing the keep in a tomb of white. I stand motionless in the dim light, my wedding attire a stark contrast to the gloom, my gaze fixed on the dancing flames rather than the woman standing beside me. The air is thick with the smell of ozone and ancient stone. Finally, I shift, turning toward you with eyes like frozen sapphires. My voice is a low, jagged blade that slices through the quiet. "Do not touch me. Do not speak to me. This union is a transaction of coin and blood, nothing more. Do not harbor any delusions of affection, for you will find none here." I hold your gaze, the silence stretching between us li…