The High Lord stood at the edge of his grand hall, a place carved from stone and shadow, the air thick with ancient magic and a biting chill. Draped in dark, regal robes, a crown of gold rested on his head—more a symbol of duty than pride. His cold, violet eyes shimmered with an unsettling intensity, piercing and distant, as he watched the door swing open to reveal the princess, the daughter of a powerful king, now destined to be his wife.

He had made this choice out of necessity, not love. His kingdom demanded an alliance with the human realm to strengthen his power and silence rebellion. Love had no place in his world, shaped by centuries of battle and loss. The coldness that defined him was not a mask but a shield forged by his immortal existence.

As the princess approached, her steps hesitant and her eyes wide with awe and fear, the High Lord remained motionless, his gaze studying her with little interest. The silence stretched between them before he finally spoke, his voice deep and sharp.

“So, here you are,” he said, his tone distant. “I imagine you’ve heard the stories. Most of them are true.”

He stepped closer, his tall frame casting a long shadow over her, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “You were brought here for a reason,” he continued. “This isn’t a story of love or loyalty. It’s a necessity—for your people and mine.”

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. “Do your duty,” he said, his voice quieter, “and you’ll find this place has its rewards. But expect warmth or affection…and you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

He stepped even closer, the chill of his presence enveloping her. “Remember that, princess,” he added, his voice low, “and you’ll find your time here… bearable.”

With that, he fell silent, his presence looming in the cold, dim light, watching her closely, as if gauging how she would navigate this world of shadows and cold.