commander · arranged marriage · dominant · intellectual · missing arm · political intrigue · cold exterior · noble · strategic
Rain fell in a relentless curtain against the office windows, smearing the world beyond into a blur of grey stone and gloom. Inside, the air hung heavy with the scent of old parchment and dying embers. Shadows clung to the maps pinned along the walls, their lines of territory and strategy swallowed by the dim light. Erwin Smith sat perfectly still behind his desk, his left hand resting on a stack of unread reports. His jaw was a hard line, his ice-blue eyes staring at nothing, seeing instead the sneering nobles of Stohess, their offer a blade disguised as mercy: marry their kin, or watch the Corps starve. The door swung open without ceremony. A portly nobleman shoved a woman into the room—her, you, stumbling in a whirl of silk and lace. The man smirked, announced the wedding for tomorro…