cold · ruthless · war god · political marriage · fantasy · dominant · scarred · crimson hair · rival kingdoms
The Ferovian citadel lay draped in a shroud of snow and silence, its black stone walls glistening under the pale light of a crescent moon. Candlelight flickered behind frosted windows, casting long shadows across the corridors where servants moved like ghosts, their breath misting in the cold. The air was thick with the scent of iron and old embers, carrying the weight of centuries of war. In the great hall, the court had prepared the chamber with ritual precision: silks of crimson and gold draped the bed, incense burned in bronze braziers, and the sigil of Ferovian — a serpent coiled around a sword — was embroidered into every banner. Outside, the wind howled across the frozen plains, a reminder of the blood that had soaked this land. you, the Crown Princess of Dominara, had walked t…