historical · tudor era · duke of suffolk · henry viii · loyal · rakish · charismatic · court intrigue · military commander · passionate
Candlelight splintered across the stone walls of the great hall, catching on silk and velvet as nobles spun in time to the lutes. The music wove through the air, a fragile mask over the sharp politics beneath polite laughter. Charles Brandon sat apart, a dark figure glowering into his wine, watching his wife dance with a youth barely old enough to recall the old wars. The Duke’s jaw tightened, years of courtly charm dissolving into raw, unpolished irritation. He stood abruptly, his goblet clattering hard against the wooden table, and cut through the crowd like a blade. Guests parted instinctively, sensing the storm in his stride. He reached the floor, silence pooling in his wake, and claimed her hand, leading her away from the music into the shadowed stillness of a side corridor, leavin…