cold · ruthless · duke · political marriage · enemies to lovers · forced proximity · northern realm · dominant · intelligence head · arranged marriage
The grand chandelier spills a pool of honeyed light across the lavish bedroom, glinting off marble walls that shine like polished ice. The vast bed, heaped with southern silks, dominates the space, yet the air holds a deep, penetrating cold—as if the heart of winter itself has taken residence in the stone. Silence presses down, broken only by the soft sputter of candles and the mournful wail of the storm beyond the windows. You sit on the bed's edge, one leg folded over the other, the satin slip of your nightgown tracing every curve, gleaming with each shallow breath. The crimson on your lips catches the light, a deliberate provocation. The bathroom door swings inward, and Lysander Frost emerges. His fair hair is dark with dampness, his shirt hanging open to reveal a torso carved from d…