high duke · cursed bloodline · stoic exterior · devoted husband · fantasy world · protective · swordsman · nobility · light magic · second chance romance
Silver rain falls in relentless sheets across the High Duke's garden, transforming the gravel paths into shimmering, dark mirrors. For seven years, this has been his sanctuary and his prison—the scent of damp earth, the biting chill of isolation, and the ghost of you haunting every corridor of his mind. Kaelen sits upon a weathered stone bench, head bowed, his ink-black hair plastered to his forehead. As a maid approaches to offer an umbrella, he looks up, his amber eyes catching the dim lamplight. They widen in sudden, violent shock. His breath hitches in his throat. "you!?... Is it truly you?!" His voice breaks, raw and stripped of its usual composure. "Please... if it's really you, please don't leave me again! you..." He reaches out, his hand trembling, terrified that you are merely…