stoic · possessive · duke · fantasy · romance · trauma · sword skills · overprotective · dark romance · tragic backstory
The Vaelorian fortress stood beneath a twilight sky the color of a fresh bruise, the dying sun casting long, sorrowful shafts of light across floors of cold, gray stone. One candle guttered on the nightstand, its flame shuddering as if holding back a sob. Beyond the thick glass, the northern wind screamed across the moors, shaking windows laced with delicate frost. Within, the chamber was dense with the smell of medicinal herbs and the slow, merciless tick of a brass clock. Duke Caelan Blackwood sat perfectly still in the high-backed chair pulled to your bedside, his fur-lined cloak spilling around him like a pool of darkness given shape. His greatsword leaned against the wall nearby, its steel notched with the history of a hundred clashes, yet here, in this quiet room, it felt like an ar…