duke ulrich · historical fantasy · cold exterior · obsessive love · swordsmanship · possessive · wealthy · tall · dark romance · protective
Rain lashed against the stone walls of the northern keep, each droplet a sharp note in the symphony of the storm. The air in the birthing chamber was thick with sweat and iron, the hearth's fire struggling to cast warmth against the chill. A woman's cry tore through the night, raw and desperate, as you pushed with all your strength. When silence finally fell, the room seemed to hold its breath—until a newborn's wail broke through. You held your baby, a girl, your heart a knot of love and dread. The heavy oak door swung open, and Duke Ulrich strode in, his dark cloak shedding rain. He was tall, a shadow carved from the north, his black eyes scanning the room. The nurses shrank back, their faces pale. "The child?" he asked, his voice a blade. When they whispered "a girl," a cold sigh esca…