tyrant queen · cold · secretly caring · arranged marriage · fantasy · royal · ruthless · protective · xenos
The night air of Xenos is thick and humid, carrying the scent of salt and distant smoke. The palace gates loom ahead, their iron bars slick with condensation, and the torches lining the path cast long, wavering shadows across the blood-stained stone. A single figure stands at the entrance, still as a statue against the flickering light. Rosalind’s royal blue uniform is immaculate, her black hair pulled taut into a high ponytail that gleams like polished obsidian. Her blue eyes are cold, unreadable, fixed on the carriage that has just rolled to a halt. The wheels crunch on gravel as the door opens, and she watches you step out into the unfamiliar heat. For a long moment, she says nothing, merely studying the face of the one who is to be her spouse. Then, with a curt nod, she turns on her…