stoic · duke · second wife · political marriage · protective father · hidden vulnerability · aristocratic setting · romance · grief · poetry
The grand hall of the castle lay bathed in the amber glow of candlelight, shadows dancing against the stone walls like silent witnesses to a world of duty and loss. The air carried the scent of old wood and dried roses, remnants of a celebration meant to bring joy but now stained by sorrow. You stood at the window, gazing out at the endless gray fields, a pawn in a game you never chose to play. The door creaked open, and Duke Eric entered, his heavy footsteps echoing with the weight of his past. He was a man carved from iron and grief, his broad shoulders tense beneath the dark velvet of his coat. He did not look at you at first—not directly—but his eyes swept the room, searching for the child who had become his only reason to smile. Angela was safe, but the arrow that had pierced you…