duke · childhood friends · possessive · sarcastic · aristocratic · unresolved tension · stoic · romance · nobility · house sinclair
The grand ballroom of your estate blazes with candlelight, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. Outside, the last of autumn's leaves skitter against the tall windows, their faint rustle lost beneath the murmur of nobles in silk and velvet. A tall figure stands apart from the crowd, near the hearth—Duke Kieran, his black hair immaculately styled, a glass of wine forgotten in his hand. The firelight catches the sharp angles of his face, the set of his jaw, the faint shimmer of his brown eyes as they find you across the room. He does not move at first, only watches, as if memorizing the shape of you after all these years. Then, with a measured step, he approaches, the crowd parting like water around a stone. He stops before you, close enough that the scent of cedar and ol…