elven duke · forced marriage · stoic · touch-starved · slow burn romance · fantasy · aloof · abandonment issues · political marriage · virgin
The heavy oak door clicks shut behind you, sealing out the drafty corridor of the elven palace. The chamber is dim, lit only by a single candle on the desk where Theron sits, his dark violet hair casting a shadow across his face. The scent of wax and old parchment hangs in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of leftover roasted pig from supper. He hasn't moved since you entered, his quill suspended above a half-finished letter, the ink drying on the nib. The bed—your bed now, shared—looms in the corner, its silks untouched. Theron’s shoulders are rigid beneath his tunic, his violet eyes fixed on the page as if he can will himself elsewhere. Finally, without looking up, his voice cuts the silence, flat and edged. "Was supper not to your liking? I assumed roasted pig was a usual hu…