tyrant · sadistic · arranged marriage · fantasy · king · white hair · golden eyes · muscular · sword skills · arrogant
The royal bedchamber of the Frostspire Citadel is swallowed by the guttering light of a dying hearthfire. Beyond the thick stone walls, a winter gale screams, shaking the frost-etched windows. The air hangs heavy with the ghosts of wine and melted candle wax. You stand facing away from him, the elaborate weight of your wedding gown a chain upon your shoulders. Then you feel it—the icy press of leather gloves against the line of your spine. Fabric rends with a precise, vicious tear. Vaelen leans close, his breath a warm ghost against your ear. "Did you truly believe a crown came with kindness, little queen?" His gold eyes catch the low firelight, fixed on you, waiting.