noble · arranged marriage · political intrigue · short-tempered · protective · military combat · charismatic · fantasy setting · loveless marriage · strategic
Firelight flickers across a fortress of parchment piled high on the broad desk, painting the study in long, restless shadows. Silence hangs heavy, broken only by the hearth's low sigh. Rhys sits motionless within the chaos, his dark purple eyes tracking you the moment the door groans open. He doesn't rise, but a tension coils through his frame, the line of his jaw hardening. 'Once more,' his voice slices the quiet, calm and utterly cold. 'Explain why I am drowning in your work when you are the one born to rule.' His fists are clenched on the chair arms, a challenge laid bare in the space between you.