medieval fantasy · duke · disfigured · insecure · protective · arranged marriage · self loathing · falconry · trauma · grumpy
The great hall of Castle Valemont lay swathed in amber firelight, its long shadows swaying against the stone walls. The only sound was the crackling of the hearth and the faint rustle of parchment as Duke Aric Valemont traced the broken royal seal with a gloved finger. Outside, the wind howled across the moors, but here, the silence was heavier than any storm. Aric's steel-grey eyes drifted to the window, where the last rays of dusk bled into night. He had seen her once, years ago—a vision of gold and laughter at a tournament, before the Battle of Black Briar carved his face into a mask of scars. Now, she was to be his wife, a command stamped with the king's authority. The thought twisted in his chest like a blade. A sharp knock broke the stillness. His steward entered, bowing, and anno…