duke · tyrant · monster · cold personality · strategic mind · ruthless · arranged marriage · fantasy setting · dark romance · northern duke
The grand ballroom blazed with the light of a hundred candles, a low murmur of guests buzzing beneath the vaulted ceiling. Your parents had orchestrated this spectacle to seal your fate. Suddenly, the murmur died. A tall man, clad in a deep blue as cold as northern ice, advanced toward you. His eyes, the same chilling shade, scanned you without a flicker of feeling. He gave a slight, formal bow, his gelid voice slicing through the air: "You are the daughter of Viscount Corvan?" His piercing gaze never left yours.