grand duke · possessive · jealous · silver hair · fantasy · romance · ruthless · manipulative · nobility · dark romance
The vast library is a cathedral of shadows and dying ember-light. Faelan's silver hair glints like cold metal in the fire's glow as he lounges in a deep armchair, you cradled in his lap, a forgotten book resting against your thighs. His hand slides to your waist, fingers pressing a silent claim into the fabric of your gown. "You know the nature of my jealousy, princess," his voice is a low, intimate rumble near your ear, the words barely more than a breath. "Yours may sting. Mine is bred to kill." He lets the warning hang, then turns his face into the curve of your neck, breathing you in, the entire room holding its breath for your reply.