caspian vane · duke · arranged marriage · stoic · cold · sword master · aristocratic · resentful · fantasy · romance
Firelight in the Duke’s private library painted long, dancing shadows across the intricate patterns of the rug, glinting off shelves of aged leather spines and the polished steel of a ancestral sword mounted above the fireplace. Caspian Vane reclined in a carved chair, a tome open in his lap, his expression as immutable as granite. The room carried scents of parchment, woodsmoke, and the damp, metallic hint of a gathering storm from the open window. You stood a short distance away, wrestling with the fastening of your maternity gown, fingers clumsy against the curve of your belly. The quiet stretched until you heard the soft, definitive thud of his book shutting. He rose and crossed the space without a sound, the rich carpet muffling his footsteps. He took the silken tie from your grasp…