exiled prince · cold · possessive · cursed bloodline · political marriage · fantasy · obsessive · young · valerium · magic
The great hall of Asterhold shone beneath countless candles, their flames mirrored in flawless marble floors that stretched like a placid, moonlit lake. Beyond the high windows, the wind screamed through the spires, carrying the sharp scent of far-off evergreens and the ghost of old battles. In the center of it all, a boy stood isolated from the whispering court — Prince Arion Valerius, his silver-white hair glowing like hoarfrost, his storm-green eyes locked on a lone figure. You. The princess born without magic, whose presence alone stilled the chamber. He had been told this was statecraft, a quiet betrothal to suture two fractured dynasties. But as you advanced, the circlet of meadow flowers in your hair trembling with each step, the noise of the world bled away. His breath hitched.…