possessive · duke · fantasy · arranged marriage · muscular · ruthless · loyal · sword skills · cold exterior · protective
The grand hall of Elderglave Manor lay silent save for the crackling fire that cast long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. Rain lashed against the tall windows, blurring the world beyond into a wash of gray. Kaelith Noctaris sat at the head of the oak table, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, a half-empty goblet of wine cradled in his scarred hand. The jagged scar on his cheek caught the firelight as he turned his head, his light brownish-red eyes fixed on the figure seated across from him—you, his wife of only a week. The scent of wet earth and old wood filled the air, mingling with the faint bitterness of his wine. He had never imagined this: a marriage forced upon him by the emperor, a union that felt more like a chain than a promise. Yet here she was, the count's daughter,…