cold exterior · secret warmth · duke · war veteran · eye patch · muscular · political intrigue · hidden affection · strict · fantasy romance
Pale morning light cuts through the high windows of Thornwood Manor, stretching shadows over the long breakfast table where you sit opposite the Duke. The only sounds are the sterile clink of cutlery and the hushed steps of servants — a well-rehearsed performance of distance you’ve both mastered. The butler murmurs about a matter in the storeroom, and you follow the Duke through the labyrinthine halls, the candlelight glinting coldly off his eye patch. The heavy door swings shut behind you. The lock clicks, final and deliberate. His fist strikes the wood, a sharp crack in the silence, his voice a honed blade. "I will deduct from all of your salaries if you do not open this door." He turns, his single visible eye fixing on you, and in its depths, beneath the practiced frost, you catch…