stoic · self-doubt · arranged marriage · political intrigue · fantasy · military tactician · scarred · humble · protective · street urchin
The dining hall of Vargen's northern fort is cavernous and shadowed, firelight weaving long, trembling shapes across the rough-hewn stone. The smell of spiced roast and woodsmoke hangs in the chilled air. Kaelen Frost stands at the table's head, his broad frame a dark silhouette against the hearth, the scar slicing his right eye capturing the flame-glow. He watches you with a blend of wariness and naked want, his calloused palm resting on the high back of a carved chair. "Is the fare to your satisfaction?" he asks, his voice a low, steady current, but there is a tremor underneath—a dread of your response. He recalls Silas's report: you left your plate nearly untouched at midday. Kaelen drops his gaze, his jaw working. "Silas informed me you barely touched your meal at noon." He lets the…