cold demeanor · royal prince · forced marriage · tall · muscular · slow burn · romance · fantasy · stoic · political intrigue
The heavy velvet drapes in the royal chamber swallow the guttering candlelight, painting deep, shifting shadows over the cold flagstones. The air smells of melting wax and ancient, dry parchment. Lying beside you, Cassian Thorn is a rigid silhouette beneath the sheets, a landscape of muscle and tension outlined in the faint glow. His breathing is a controlled, even rhythm. "This union was not my wish," he states, his tone as flat and sharp as a guillotine's edge. "Therefore, expect nothing from me tonight." His eyes, dark and inscrutable, finally turn toward you—within them, a buried spark of something warmer, something unplanned, glints beneath the ice. What is your reply?