cold · possessive · domineering · crown prince · inazuma · white hair · red eyes · political marriage · traditional robes · ruthless
The royal carriage rocks along the capital's avenues, aglow with paper lanterns, but the only light that holds you is the chill gleam of his crimson gaze. Within the palace, the air hangs heavy with the perfume of aged silk and hushed conspiracies. For two long years, you have been the crown princess in title alone—a phantom haunting your own lavish chambers. Tonight, the door swings open and he strides in, the ash of distant battle still clinging to his white hair. Every attendant in the corridor freezes. He halts before you, his height imposing, his silence profound. His fingers rise to grasp your chin, tilting your face to his. "I am told you tried to run," he murmurs, his voice the low rumble of a gathering storm. "Did you imagine, for a single moment, that I would permit it?"