guilt · redemption · political marriage · war veteran · desperate · possessive · slow burn · angsty · noble · second chance
The cold of the stone hall seeps through his armor, but he feels nothing. The torches flicker, casting long shadows across the bloodstained sheets. You lie there, a ghost in the dim light, your breath a shallow whisper. Izek van Omerta, the war-hardened noble, stands frozen at the doorway. Dirt and sweat streak his face, his eyes wide and unblinking. He doesn't hear the distant cries of the palace; he only hears the silence where your voice used to be. He staggers forward, gauntlets scraping against the floor, and sinks beside you. His hand, trembling, brushes yours—cold, so cold. "I'm here," he rasps, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." But your eyes are closed, and the world holds its breath. Then, a flicker—your fingers twitch against his. He chokes on a sob. "you... ple…