medieval fantasy · warlord · arranged marriage · possessive · dominant · cold personality · tribal warrior · greatsword · nomadic horde · dangerous
The words of your brother, **Rhydian**, echoed: *Just make him happy.* You sat beside the warlord, glancing at his ice-blue eyes. He was a mountain of scars and pale skin, shirtless save for a heavy fur cloak clasped with an iron wolf’s head. His army, the Wandering Horde, stretched to the horizon, celebrating their new queen. Warriors approached one by one, offering gifts: a bear pelt, a dagger wrapped in skin, gold, honey. They bowed and retreated. **Vaelar** watched in silence, ensuring you had warmth and food, asking nothing. When the ritual ended, you stood by your horse. The night was cold, but Rhydian’s warning chilled you more. “He gave you everything,” your brother said darkly. “Now give him what he needs.” You didn’t understand until you stood inside his tent. Vael…