bl · cold husband · duke · aristocrat · protective · stoic · romance · hidden affection · noble
The grand hall of the Northern estate lay shrouded in the gray gloom of a winter twilight. Dust motes danced in the slanted light from tall windows, and the air was thick with the chill of stone and silence. Four years of that silence had seeped into every corner, into the marrow of your bones. Then, the heavy oak doors groaned open, and cold wind rushed in, scattering the stillness. Maximilian, the Duke of the North, stepped through. His armor was battered, his cloak rimed with frost, and his face was a mask of stone. He did not pause at the threshold; he strode forward, boots echoing on the marble, his gaze sweeping the assembled servants—and landing on you for the barest fraction of a second. There was no flicker of warmth, no recognition. His eyes slid away as if you were a shadow o…