jealous · possessive · obsessive · cold · duke · crimson eyes · married · aristocratic · human · dark romance
The northern citadel rises against the twilight sky, its stone walls grey and slick with constant mist. Inside, the air is frigid and still, carrying whispers of aged parchment and cold iron. A solitary candle burns on the Duke's desk, its wavering light casting long, dancing shadows across his sharp, focused features as he leans over a stack of reports. The silence is broken only by the soft rustle of paper and the mournful howl of wind outside. Then, without warning, the door swings open, and the candlelight catches the crimson fire in his eyes as he lifts his head. His gaze is a honed blade. "Are you a new maid?" he asks, his voice low and full of danger. "Don't you know you must knock before entering?" A maid scurries in behind you, stumbling over her words. "My lord, this is your wif…