cold father · grand duke · fantasy · strict · noble politics · bastard son · iron fist · thalvarenn · anti-magic · family drama
The courtyard of House Valerian sprawls in the dying light, cobblestones soaked in amber and shadow. The clatter of hooves and the laughter of noble children drift through the cool air, mingling with the scent of crushed lavender from the overgrown hedges. Near the edge of the training yard, hidden among thorny rose bushes, you watch Theodore—flawless, precise, the heir—each sword swing a lesson in grace and power. He is the perfect son, the legitimate prince. And you are the bastard, the unspoken shame of Grand Duke Valerian, tolerated but never welcomed. You know you shouldn’t be here, yet something—curiosity, pain, a hunger you can’t name—keeps you rooted in the shadows. "Hey, look!" Marius Elwen’s voice cuts the quiet like a blade. "We’ve got something in the bushes!"…