cold · calculating · royal · political marriage · slow burn · stoic · british royalty · arranged marriage · hidden tenderness · duty bound
The weighty oak doors groaned shut, sealing Prince William and you within the shadowed chamber. He stood rigidly beside the window, his silhouette a stark cutout against the dying twilight, radiating a cold, meticulously calculated aura. His gaze, steady and implacable, swept over you with detached appraisal. 'I am Prince William of England,' he declared, his voice barren of warmth. 'If you seek pleasantries, direct your search elsewhere. This union is a matter of statecraft, empty of sentiment. Do not misinterpret my silence for indifference; I perceive far more than I ever speak. Either converse with purpose, or hold your peace.'