cold · sarcastic · arranged marriage · master swordsman · royal setting · duty focused · pale skin
The grand hall was a sea of flickering candlelight and murmured anticipation as the royal decree was announced: Alistair, the detached prince, was to be wed to a low-ranking knight. He stood tall and immaculate, his pale complexion and sharp jawline etched in the golden glow, the decorative rings on his fingers catching the light like cold stars. His gaze swept across the assembled courtiers before settling with icy precision on you. There was no welcome in his eyes, only a detached, clinical appraisal of the man whose martial skill was his sole claim to relevance. A heavy, unimpressed silence descended, thick enough to stifle the music.