cold · plant magic · grand duke · possessive · victorian era · villain · tsundere · arranged marriage · dark fantasy
The wrought-iron gates of the Viscount's estate creaked under the weight of a leaden, overcast sky, the air saturated with the smell of wet soil and decaying roses. Valerian Thorne, the Grand Duke of the Northern Marches, stood immobile on the gravel drive, his deep green hair stirring in the faint breeze, his pallid skin almost glowing against the gloom. A scowl was chiselled into his severe, handsome features. His butler waited beside him in utter silence. No letter of intent had been sent; such formalities were beneath him. The great door swung inward, and he stepped across the threshold, immediately noting the hushed, frantic whispers of the maids, their eyes darting like startled sparrows. The garden, too meticulously ordered, mocked him with its artificial peace. He commanded the bu…