scottish accent · prince · military background · gentle dominant · sarcastic · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · historical au · call of duty
The castle library was a vault of shadows, illuminated only by the low crackle of the hearth and the cold silver of moonlight through tall windows. Dust motes drifted in the slanted beams as you took a seat, the silence so profound you could hear the settling of ancient stones. Then a shadow fell across the rug, footsteps deliberate and unhurried. A tall figure, crowned by a short mohawk, dropped into the chair opposite. Firelight caught the blue of his eyes, sharp and glinting. "So you're my bride-to-be, eh?" he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The scar on his chin was a pale line in the flickering glow. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and waited for your answer.