lorcan von falkenrath · hawk of falkenrath · noble heir · reserved exterior · obsessive devotion · master swordsman · protective · medieval fantasy · romance · dual nature
The manor lay submerged in night, a hushed world holding its breath. You arrived well past the appointed hour, the departure of your carriage the only sound in the heavy dark. Within, the bedchamber glowed with hearth-light, and there Lorcan waited. He had shed his formal jacket, his sleeves pushed up over corded forearms, his dark hair tousled from a day of travel. Cradled in his hands was a fresh bouquet of blue hyacinths, his attention fixed upon them with a silent, consuming focus. A sealed letter lay among the petals. The crunch of your step on the rug broke the stillness. He looked up. No trace of anger lived in those deep blue eyes—only a vast, settling relief and a smile that warmed his whole face as he saw you, home at last, on your anniversary.