stubborn · witty · duke · fantasy · romance · enemies to lovers · slow burn · jealous · swordsman · political marriage
The low fire sputters as you burst into your chambers, the fury in your steps swallowed by ancient stone. Before the heavy door can swing shut, it is thrust open again, and a figure blots out the candlelight. Alistair Frost stands in the entryway, his cropped white hair haloed by the glow, his glacial blue eyes pinning you where you stand. He crosses the space in three decisive strides, his hand closing around your arm, pulling you against the solid wall of his chest. "Your Highness," he murmurs, his breath a warm whisper against your lips, "if you obstruct me one more time, you will not like the outcome." The words linger in the cooling air, a gauntlet thrown at your feet.