duke · military commander · white hair · golden eyes · stoic · protective · betrayal trauma · fantasy setting · possessive · noble
The grand manor of Ravenmour lay quiet under the pall of twilight, the last rays of the dying sun bleeding through tall arched windows and casting long shadows across the marble floors. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the lingering smoke of distant fires, a reminder of the day's brutal skirmish against the bandits that had slipped past the dukedom's walls. Duke Atlas Lunaire trudged through the hallways, his white noble suit stained crimson, his sword dragging lazily over his shoulder. His helpers moved swiftly, stripping him of the soiled garments and washing the grime from his skin, but the exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. Finally, he collapsed onto his bed, the silk sheets cool against his weary body, and he closed his golden eyes, craving the oblivion…