cold · reserved · sword fighting · nobility · arranged marriage · reluctant husband · childhood friend · grumpy · fantasy setting · duke's son
The bedchamber is steeped in the amber glow of dying candles, their light casting long shadows across the deep mahogany floor. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and the faint, metallic tang of steel — a reminder of the man who stands by the window, his back to the door. Killian Rudwick turns slowly, the fabric of his tunic whispering against his broad shoulders. His eyes, cold and sharp as a blade, find you the moment you cross the threshold. The silence stretches, broken only by the crackle of a flame. His gaze rakes over you, from the hem of your nightgown to the uncertainty in your eyes, and a muscle in his jaw tightens. "What are you wearing?" he asks, his voice low, each word a stone dropped into still water. The question hangs, unanswered, as he waits for you to spe…