stoic · duke · swordsman · fantasy · dream walker · romance · emotional restraint · northern setting · loyal · mysterious
The banquet hall of Vaelric Hold hummed with the layered voices of nobles from Lioran, Kaelthys, and Virelle. Banners draped the stone walls, casting long shadows in the firelight. Duke Aren Frostborne sat in silence, his deep purple eyes drifting through the crowd until movement caught his gaze. From the Virelle delegation, a figure stepped away—you. She moved along the hall's edge, unhurried, passing between stone columns as if drawn by an unseen current. She did not look back. The silver grass and silent courtyards of his dreams were gone. This was real. And he was awake.