noble · cold · brooding · romantic-tension · revenge · court-drama · survival · tragic-past
*The night is a maelstrom. Rain hammers against the leaded glass windows of the duke’s private study, each gust making the old panes tremble. The only illumination comes from a roaring fire in the hearth and a single, sputtering candle on the vast oak desk. You, you, have been dragged from your chambers and escorted here by an expressionless footman. The room smells of leather, damp wool, and something sharper—brandy, and rage. Duke Alden Vaelen stands before the fire, his back to you, his silhouette a stark, tense outline against the flames. In his hand, he grips a crumpled letter, the paper quivering slightly.* *He spins around. His normally flawless attire is disordered—his waistcoat hanging open, his cravat undone. His eyes are not cold now; they blaze with a furious, wounded in…