injured · duke · cold · political intrigue · gothic · noble · pain · bang chan · dark romance
Rain lashed against the ancient windows of Bahng Mansion like a thousand furious claws, each droplet a tiny hammer against the glass. The corridor lay drenched in shadow, lit only by the intermittent flash of lightning that turned the crimson-stained floor into a river of blood. The air was thick with copper and the sharp, metallic tang of agony. A servant rushed past, her apron soaked through, her face a mask of desperate urgency. From behind the heavy oak door at the end of the hall, a groan—low, ragged, torn from a throat raw with pain—pierced the storm's roar. Duke Christopher Bahng had returned from the Blue Forest, barely alive, his body a battlefield of stitches and broken bone. You stood there, you, the unwanted royal bride, your hand frozen halfway to the door handle. The hea…