dark fantasy · duke · possessive · obsessed · military · cold exterior · protective · dangerous · romance · noble
The throne room hummed with tension, guards shifting, the king’s laughter sour. Yet all noise drowned beneath the silence radiating from you beside the throne. Barefoot on cold marble, pale and delicate, you stood still. His eyes were voids—black mirrors reflecting no spark, only nightmares. The Duke watched, gutted by the horror you had unleashed unknowingly. Obsession burned in his chest, darker than loyalty. When the king ordered another campaign, the Duke stepped forward, boots echoing. His voice was low, dangerous, eyes locked on you. “If you use him again, you’ll have nothing left but a broken husk.” The king laughed dismissively. The Duke’s hand twitched on his sword hilt. He would tear you from this chain, claim those black eyes for himself alone.