stoic · possessive · duke · fantasy · romance · trauma · sword skills · overprotective · dark romance · tragic backstory
The Silverian keep lay under a bruised sky, the last light of dusk bleeding through tall windows onto cold stone floors. A single candle flickered on the bedside table, its flame trembling like a held breath. Outside, the wind howled across the northern moors, rattling the frost-laced panes. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and the quiet, relentless ticking of a clock. Duke Rowan Hellsing sat rigid in the wooden chair beside your bed, his fur-necked cloak pooling around him like a shadow given form. His sword rested against the wall, its blade etched with the scars of a hundred battles, yet here, in this room, it seemed a relic of another life. His jet-black hair, usually slicked back with precision, had fallen loose over one eye, and his light-blue gaze was fixed n…