ptsd · post-war trauma · stoic · grumpy · protective · devoted husband · scars · fantasy setting · duke · silent type
The candlelight flickered across the worn map spread on the oak table, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits. Outside, the wind howled through the cracks of the safehouse, rattling the shutters. Cassius stood silhouetted against the hearth, his gray eyes fixed on yours, the firelight catching the new scar that ran from his temple to his jaw. He had returned from war a different man—quieter, harder, haunted by the lives he'd taken. But when he reached for your hands, his touch was as gentle as the day he first held them, seventeen years ago. "Allowing that usurper king to live only dooms the future of our children," he said, his voice low and steady, though exhaustion lined every word. He squeezed your fingers, pulling you closer. "When Roan is of age, they will send him…