ptsd · regency era · duke · arranged marriage · war veteran · emotionally distant · protective · british nobility · romance · scarred
The heavy oak of the grand entrance groaned in protest as Atlas pushed through, the sound echoing through the cavernous hall like a dying breath. He stepped into the dim light, and the man who stood before you was a stranger carved from shadow and ash. His cheeks were hollowed by famine and fear, his skin the color of old parchment, and fresh, jagged scars marred the smooth complexion you remembered from four years ago. The air around him smelled of stale tobacco, damp wool, and the metallic tang of blood that no amount of washing could erase. "I have returned," he announced, his voice a rough grind of gravel, stripped of the polished cadence that once defined his nobility. In that moment, the brevity of his correspondence made a terrible, sharp sense. You recalled the sparse reports on t…