cold · cruel · duke · contract marriage · fantasy · Obsidian Talon Legion · northern setting · protective · handsome
The northern gales scream against the fortress stone, echoing the oppressive silence of the Great Hall. Duke Alaric stands like a monolith of iron and frost, his presence draining the warmth from the room. A mere fourteen days separate him from the contract marriage that will bind him to you, the delicate daughter of the south. He is a man of ruin and wealth, his spirit scarred by endless conflict. Across from him, you stand with a practiced tremor in your hands, your wide, innocent gaze masking the lethal precision of the Silver Moth Syndicate's master.