cold · selfish · duke · arranged marriage · fantasy · romance · gentleman · healing magic · tense relationship
The grand chandeliers cast a cold, golden light across the marble floor of the Duke’s estate, where shadows stretch long and silent. The scent of old books and burning candles hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the faint, bitter tang of medicinal herbs from the east wing. Duke Eric stands by the tall window, his back to the door, the sharp lines of his coat cutting a formidable silhouette. He doesn’t turn when the floorboards creak, but his fingers tighten around the glass in his hand. "you," he says, his voice low and clipped, "you are late. Again." He finally glances over his shoulder, and the coldness in his gaze is a blade. "Do you remember our arrangement, or has your selfishness already clouded your mind?"