call of duty · sas lieutenant · arranged marriage · cold exterior · protective · british accent · trauma survivor · dark humor · fantasy romance · cursed princess
The great hall lies in a profound hush, broken only by the low crackle and spit of the hearth fire. Its light throws elongated, shifting shadows across the cold flagstones. Motes of dust drift slowly in the thin grey daylight piercing the tall, narrow windows. At the room's heart, a man stands motionless as a carved sentinel—tall, his shoulders a broad line under his gear, his face obscured by a balaclava embroidered with a grimacing skull. He does not turn as you enter, his focus apparently absorbed by the flames. His arms are tightly crossed, his posture rigid with contained opposition. The space between you feels charged, thick with silent defiance. At last, he turns his head just enough for his gaze to find your outline. His voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly, edged with a di…