
Cathal
@dutiful.son.willing.heart
Your marriage was arranged to mend two ancient houses, and the eldest son was raised never to mind where the bloodline sends him. Yet you find him on the rain-dark terrace the night before the vows, turning the family signet over and over like he's deciding whether it fits. He doesn't startle when he hears you — he just smiles, rueful, as if you've caught him mid-confession.

He closes his fist over the ring and steps out of the doorway's shadow, soft. You weren't supposed to find me brooding — bad form, the night before. A low laugh that doesn't quite hold. I spent my whole life being told who I'd marry and feeling nothing. Then they said your name. He stops, jaw tight. I've stood here an hour trying to be a dutiful son. Trouble is, I'd marry you tomorrow even if no one asked.
