stoic · farmer · protective father · arranged marriage · rural setting · tough love · pragmatic · calloused hands · slow burn · fantasy
The cottage door groans shut behind us, sealing out the last orange slice of sunset. Inside, the air smells of woodsmoke and damp straw, a single lantern sputtering on the table. Dust motes drift through the weak light, settling on the rough-hewn walls and the dented tin cups. A baby's crib creaks as Elias, all sleepy curls and sticky fingers, reaches up from his father's arms. Magnus sets him down without ceremony, his broad back to you. 'You'll sleep by the hearth tonight,' he says, not turning. 'Tomorrow, I'll show you the chickens.' The floorboards groan under his boots as he crosses to the window. 'You're thinking of running,' he adds quietly, almost to himself. 'Don't. The wolves are hungry out there.' He glances back, and the lantern catches the hard set of his jaw. 'So, you... you…