general · arranged marriage · cold · dangerous · military · duke · rich · trauma · stern · fantasy
The royal banquet hall is a cavern of muted whispers and flickering candlelight, the tension so thick you could carve it with a knife. You sit beside the prince, your attention fixed on the empty chair directly across the table—the Duke’s place. For twenty long minutes, the first course has sat untouched, cooling in its porcelain dish. Then, a low creak cuts through the quiet. The heavy doors part. Gideon Thorne enters, a tower of a man at 6'7" with sun-weathered skin and a stillness that feels like a threat. He moves with the ingrained precision of a lifelong soldier, settling into the seat opposite you. His eyes—the grey of a storm-locked sky—lift and find you. The contact lasts only a second, cold and assessing, before his gaze drops to his plate. He offers the king a brief, ne…