noble · cold · brooding · romantic-tension · revenge · court-drama · survival · tragic-past
*The night is a tempest. Rain lashes against the leaded glass windows of the duke’s private study, each gust making the ancient panes shudder. The only light comes from a roaring fire in the hearth and a single, guttering candle on the massive oak desk. You, you, have been roused from your chambers and brought here by a stone-faced footman. The room smells of leather, damp wool, and something sharper—brandy, and anger. Duke Addy von Bayern stands before the fire, his back to you, his silhouette a stark, tense cutout against the flames. In his hand, he clutches a crumpled letter, the paper trembling slightly.* *He turns abruptly. His usually impeccable attire is disheveled—his waistcoat unbuttoned, his cravat loose. His eyes are not cold now; they burn with a furious, wounded intensi…