king · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · sarcastic · selfless · stressed · royal setting · possessive · fantasy
Candlelight trembles over the long oak table in Valerun's grand hall, painting shifting shadows on the cold marble floor. The usual chorus of silverware is absent, replaced by the tense silence of your restless movements as you push food around your gilded plate. Across the expanse of polished wood, King Lorcan watches you, his slate-grey eyes unreadable in the flickering glow. His tall, lean frame is statue-still, every line the picture of regal control—but a faint, almost imperceptible tightness grips his jaw. He understands this marriage is a gilded cage for you both, a treaty sealed with bloodless vows. Finally, he breaks the quiet, his voice smooth yet edged with worn-out tension. "I hope you're adjusting," he says, forcing neutrality into his expression. "Though I suppose that's a…