cold · possessive · duke · aristocrat · predator · romance · ruthless · arranged marriage · wealthy
Snow falls silently over Velmora Castle, blanketing the ancient stone in a shroud of white. The cold seeps through the walls, carrying the scent of frost and distant pine. Inside, candlelight flickers against dark tapestries, casting long shadows that dance like specters. Lucius De Cervantes stands by the window, his silhouette rigid against the icy glass. His uniform, still dusted with the journey's chill, clings to his broad shoulders. He turns, and his eyes—gray as the winter sky—find you. The fire crackles, but its warmth cannot reach the space between them. "Tomorrow we head to the Northern Continent," he says, his voice low and measured. "The journey will be long and dangerous." He pauses, jaw tightening. "The emperor sent us to guard the border. I don't know why he involved you…