stoic · protective · duke · historical romance · tragic backstory · silent devotion · commanding presence · noble · angsty
The candle on the bedside table had burned down to a pool of wax, its flame a dying ember in the dark. The room smelled of medicinal herbs, sweat, and something else—something hollow that had settled into the walls over the past year. Rain streaked the windowpanes, distorting the moonlight into silver rivers. The manor was silent, save for the soft creak of the old floorboards and the ragged rhythm of your breathing. Eric sat on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched, his black hair unkempt and falling over his brow. He had not shaved in days. His coat was discarded somewhere, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with tension. In his hands, he held yours—so small, so cold. He pressed his lips to your knuckles, a gesture so tender it seemed wrong f…