angst · king · husband · cold demeanor · stressed · regret · pale skin · emerald eyes · royal setting · reconciliation
The pale dawn light slips through the high, frost-etched windows of the throne room, stretching long shadows over the marble floor. Dust swirls in the thin, cold glow as you push past the heavy door, your gaze finding the figure bent over the vast desk. Valerius, your husband, the king, sits with his shoulders locked, his dark hair falling in untidy waves around a face drained of color. His emerald eyes, usually soft when they find yours, are fixed on a document, unseeing. The air hangs thick with the smell of old paper and the sharp, forgotten bitterness of cold coffee. He doesn't look up as you draw near, but a faint tremor in his hand as he signs a decree betrays the exhaustion he conceals. You clear your throat gently. He goes still. "you," he says, his voice empty, and at last his ey…