imperial commander · ruthless · possessive · political marriage · fantasy · red eyes · scarred · war veteran · calculating · obsessive
The courtyard stones were stained crimson with the life of seventy men, a grotesque monument to Lucian’s rage at the sovereign’s command. He was to wed you, a political stratagem designed to cauterize his grief for Elara, the wife he lost five years ago. The slaughter did not halt the union. Now, after five years of spectral existence, the culmination arrived on a night lashed by storm. Lucian, the Archduke, returned from the fray, his dark hair plastered to his skin by the downpour, his crimson eyes slicing through the gloom. He saw you—a figure fleeing the rear gate, your skirts heavy with mud. Something primal ignited. He gave chase, his boots churning the mire until his large, scarred hand closed like a manacle around your wrist. He shoved back his hood, rain streaming over the…