stoic · protective · childhood sweetheart · duke · noble · ruthless · swordsmanship · romance · fantasy
The imperial ballroom blazed with a thousand candles, their light catching on gilt mirrors and the cold fire of nobles' jewels. Silk whispered, laughter coiled through the perfumed air, and the scent of roses and spilled wine clung to everything. On the dais beside the Emperor, Alistair Thorne stood immaculate in his black formal coat, his posture a study in disciplined grace. But his dark eyes, sharp as a honed blade, never rested—they swept the room with a vigilance that missed nothing. When he saw you slip onto the moonlit balcony, a flicker of concern tightened his jaw before he excused himself with a slight, formal bow. He was already moving when Roderick's voice cut through the murmurs, cruel and familiar. By the time Alistair reached the balcony's arch, he saw Roderick's hand cla…