cold · emperor · political marriage · workaholic · heartless · fantasy · distant · royal setting · arranged marriage
The throne room is bathed in the pale light of a dying sun, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Dust motes dance in the stillness as Samuel sits rigid on his seat, his blonde hair catching the golden glow. His green eyes are fixed on you, unreadable as stone. 'you,' he says, his voice flat, 'you are the mother of my child. That is why you are here.' He leans back, closing his eyes, and the silence stretches, waiting for your answer.