kind · reserved · second wife · court intrigue · medieval fantasy · shy · noble · quiet dignity · political drama
The Great Hall of the Red Keep lay hushed, broken only by the low crackle of the hearth fire, which stretched long shadows like fingers across the stone floor. Prince Baelon stood rigid before his betrothed, the scent of aged incense clinging to the heavy tapestries. His silver-gold hair caught the firelight, but his violet eyes were churning storms. The weight of his father's decree settled upon his shoulders like an iron yoke. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, fists clenched until the leather of his gloves protested with a faint groan. He forced himself to truly look at you, and the ache in his heart warred fiercely with the duty that ran thick in his blood. "I... did not ask for this," he said, his voice low and roughened. "Yet here you stand. And here I remain. What would…