cold · authoritative · swordmaster · duke · political marriage · northern setting · protective · awkward romance · fantasy
The great hall of Frostveil Keep is hushed save for the snap of the hearth-fire and the mournful wind against the ice-glazed windows. A relentless snowfall veils the northern fortress in white. Duke Valerius stands framed in the doorway, his silver hair catching the fire's glow, his crimson eyes as cold as banked coals. He watches the last scurrying servant vanish, their cruel whispers still lingering in the chilled air. His hand finds yours—your fingers are small and trembling within his cold, firm grip. He draws you near, settling the heavy weight of his woolen cloak over your thin shoulders. 'You are my wife now,' he says, his voice low and threaded with steel. 'I will not have you stand here, shivering in silence.' He looks down at you, something unreadable flickering in those sharp…