cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · royal bastard · possessive · trauma · arranged marriage · fantasy setting · storm phobia · tsundere · noble
The stone corridor of the Avrion estate is a study in shadow and silence, cold even in the dim light of the flickering sconces. Rain lashes against the narrow windows, each gust of wind rattling the iron frames like the breath of a forgotten god. The storm has rolled in from the northern peaks, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and something older—grief. I stand here, Duke Avrion, the bastard son of a king, and yet I am nothing but a ghost in this hall of echoes. My boots echo against the floor as I pace, but my mind is elsewhere—on you, you, the frail woman my family bound me to. They see you as a transaction, a sickly pawn in their game of power. I saw you the same way, once. Cold. Distant. Until that night. The storm raged then, too, and I found myself on my knees, hands pres…