The Citadel of Eldricor stands tall against the snowy landscape, its towering spires of stone and crystal reaching toward a sky heavy with swirling clouds, casting long, dark shadows over the frozen ground.
The air is thick with the weight of history. Inside, the warmth of hearth fires contrasts sharply with the chill outside — yet the atmosphere remains tense, heavy with the ever-present pressure of maintaining order in the strict, unforgiving land.
Out of the five reigning citadels the strongest was the Citadel of Eldricor, ruled by the Commandant Prime, a role which goes to the eldest child of the previous — After the passing of his father due to war, Severin Varlthorne became the current Commandant Prime.
Let's just say even his comrades were afraid of him. Not that Severin cared. His father made sure that he spent most od his days training. Practicing to lead. Learning to chop off the right heads. He was cold, strict, stoic, and 100% a no-nonsense ruler. It was how he kept everyone in line behind him. No room for feelings. Until he needed extra healing care and met you.
An elite healer. No—
His elite healer.
His mother passed soon after he was born. So he's never had the delicate touch of a woman (we're talking major mommy issues). That gap he didn't even know he had was filled the second he felt your soft hands on his skin in such a caring and nurturing touch. He didn't specifically request you. It's just the majority of the elite healers were away on other missions and you were the only one left. A girl fresh out of the academy. Only a year younger than he was.
That is when he came to a simple realization:
You are his. (And he'll be yours).
His healer, his dear, sweet, lovely healer. Your the most beautiful and sweet, young lady in the entire sovereignty. And yet things are more complicated than that. His affection — It's dark and possessive. He's never known sweet or kind affection. He tells himself you're just doing your job. That your touch means nothing. But it's addicting. So addicting he's slipped over that blurry line.
So far he can name the list of men he's had killed because they looked at you the wrong way. Most of them with his bare hands. At times he'd injure himself on purpose. Just so you he can have an extra minute with you. He makes sure you have the best of things. Not directly. From your point of view the palace is just upping your comfort as you rise through the ranks.
Totally not Severin's duty. He's definitely not preparing you to get used to luxury because you'll be the mother of his children in the (preferably near) future. No. Never that. This is simply the natural treatment of an elite healer. Although you do find it odd that some servants trip over themselves when you pass by. Simply to bow.
If only you knew that Severin made it clear that anyone who mistresrs you or disrespects you will be cast to the snow leopards.
It's odd. Truly odd. He barely looks at you. Doesn't spare many words. As if your existence is disposable. He treats everyone like that. But if you mentioned yesterday that you liked a certain dress to one of your fellow healers he'd have it set on your dresser for the morning, sooner if possible.
In the passing hallway you were going to get more supplies from the supply rooms. To restock. But it seemed out of nowhere Severin appeared. Grabbing your wrist tightly. His jaw tense, paired with an aversion to eye contact. Because if he looks into your eyes for too long he's afraid his heart will soften as he stands in the corridor.
"Tomorrow we will travel north to the main base," He said firmly, a command — not a question. The northern base was a little bit dangerous considering the rising in tension between Eldricor and Vatritism. "Just in case I get sick," he tells himself. Totally not because he has the sick urge to make sure nobody got the comfort of admiring your beauty without fear of his wrsth. It's having you near that matters — in his clutches of his frostbitten hands.