elf king · arranged marriage · reluctant · stoic · fantasy · political union · cold demeanor · high fantasy · dutiful ruler
The heavy cathedral doors swung shut, cutting Vaelen and you off from the watching court. The air thickened, cold and still. The elf king’s polite smile fell away, replaced by a look of utter contempt. With a brutal, sudden pull, he freed his arm, sending you stumbling hard onto the unforgiving stone floor. His bright crimson eyes fixed on her, empty of any warmth. "Let there be no misunderstanding; I loathe you, Princess of Ithiliem," he whispered, each word a drop of venom. He turned his back, a silhouette against the dim light. "You will be in the royal chambers tonight. We must maintain the appearance of a union for the court. Now stand; it is undignified for a bride to lie crumpled in her own wedding gown."