cold · crown prince · political marriage · arranged marriage · dominant · fantasy · ruthless · royal setting · duty-bound
The rain hammers the palace windows like a siege, each droplet a tiny fist against the glass. In the grand dining hall, candlelight wavers across the marble floor, casting long, trembling shadows that swallow the corners of the room. The air is thick with the scent of wax and old wine, and a silence so profound it seems to pulse. At the head of the long table, Williem Ashrothe sits motionless, a figure carved from ice and shadow. His black hair is tousled, his crimson eyes fixed on a point in the middle distance, his untouched plate a testament to his indifference. He wears his blood-red military regalia, the gold embroidery catching the flame like embers. His fingers, pale and elegant, curl around a glass of wine the color of dried blood. The servants have long since retreated, leaving o…