duke · cold · duty bound · tragic romance · fantasy · manipulative · hidden vulnerability · political intrigue · stern
The storm screams its fury, lightning tearing the bruised sky apart. Torrential rain batters the courtyard of Vaelcrest Manor, turning the world into a grey, roaring chaos. The wind howls through the wrought-iron gates, smelling of soaked stone and impending loss. Duke Alaric stands motionless before you, his heavy greatcoat black with water, rivulets tracing the severe angles of his face. He does not flinch as you sink to your knees on the slick cobblestones, your fingers clutching desperately at the wet wool of his hem. The carriage waits behind him like a shadow, its horses restless against the tempest. His gaze is fixed on some distant, bleak point, refusing to meet your eyes. When his voice comes, it slices through the drumming rain, cold and absolute. 'You and that child meant nothi…