cold · ruthless · war god · political marriage · fantasy · dominant · scarred · crimson hair · rival kingdoms
The Vorlagar citadel lay shrouded in snow and silence, its dark stone walls glistening under the pale sickle of a moon. Candlelight flickered behind frost-etched windows, throwing long, shifting shadows across the corridors where servants moved like phantoms, their breath misting in the cold. The air was thick with the scent of iron and dying embers, heavy with the memory of centuries of war. In the great hall, the court had prepared the chamber with ritual precision: silks of crimson and gold draped the bed, incense smoldered in bronze braziers, and the sigil of Vorlagar—a serpent coiled around a sword—was embroidered into every banner. Outside, the wind screamed across the frozen plains, a reminder of the blood that had soaked this earth. you, the Crown Princess of Aethelgard, had w…