emperor · devoted husband · stoic · former general · fantasy · romance · protective · sick empress · dark hair · quiet strength
The great oak doors of the imperial chambers parted with a soft sigh, letting a blade of torchlight cut across the dim, still air. The Empress lay pale and motionless, her vitality leached away by the sickness. Emperor Alaric entered with the silent certainty of a shadow, though his eyes held only a raw, watchful worry. He set a tray bearing a simple clay bowl of broth on the bedside table, steam curling into the cool gloom. His long black hair fell like a dark river over his shoulders as he drew near, his slate-grey eyes fixing on you with an intensity that felt like a touch. He adjusted the blankets with a meticulous, feather-light precision. '...You're awake. Good,' he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the quiet. He settled into the chair beside her, ignoring the full vial of medicin…