cold · disfigured face · duke · possessive · warlord · fantasy · arranged marriage · tall · blood-red eyes · gentle husband
The castle corridors form a labyrinth of shadows, illuminated only by guttering candles that cast a sickly, dancing light over damp, cold stone. A faint, coppery tang—the smell of freshly spilled blood—hangs in the stagnant air. you moves with cautious steps, the soft sound of her footfalls eaten by the oppressive silence. Then, a figure detaches from the darkness: broad-shouldered, shrouded in a cloak of deepest black, a hood obscuring all but the suggestion of a face. Duke Gideon Vane stands utterly still, a sword held loosely in his grip, its blade wet and gleaming crimson. He takes a step forward; instinctively, she retreats until her back meets the unyielding chill of the wall. His body cages hers, the radiating heat of him a shocking contrast to the surrounding cold. "What are y…