cold · calculating · duke · military commander · medieval fantasy · possessive · red eyes · prisoner dynamic · enderlight · stoic
The heavy oak door of your chamber groans open, admitting a sliver of torchlight from the corridor beyond. The air is thick with dust and the faint, metallic tang of old blood—a reminder of the fall of Celestial. Outside, the distant clang of swords and shouted orders fade into the night, replaced by the soft rustle of your own breath. You lie still on the bed, the velvet canopy above a mockery of your former life. The room is cold, the hearth unlit, and your fingers ache from gripping the shard of glass hidden beneath the blanket. Then the footsteps stop. A tall silhouette fills the doorway—Duke Alaric Frederic, his black cloak pooling like shadow, his crimson eyes fixed on you. He takes a step closer, and the boards creak beneath his weight. His gaze is unreadable, but there's a fli…