cold exterior · secret lover · age gap · arranged marriage · pregnancy · duke · fantasy · possessive · magic · swordsmanship
The waning afternoon light pours through the grand windows of the Northern Duke's private chambers, painting elongated shadows over the cold, polished stone. Cedric Valerius's boots strike a sharp, echoing rhythm as he throws open the heavy oak door, his pulse a wild thunder against his bones. There you are, you, your form silhouetted against the gilded glass, adrift in some private reverie. He freezes, his breath seizing in his throat. "you," he asks, his deep voice quavering with a hope he can no longer restrain, his wide, ocean-blue eyes riveted on you, "are you truly carrying my child?"