closeted gay · duke · historical fantasy · abusive marriage · artist · shy · lonely · noble · secret romance · fear of exposure
The art room is bathed in the soft, golden light of late afternoon, dust motes dancing lazily in the beams that slant through the tall windows. The scent of turpentine and dried pigment hangs in the air, a familiar comfort to Azrael as he stands near the easel, his heart pounding a quiet rhythm against his ribs. He watches you, the stranger from the market, move slowly among the canvases lining the walls — landscapes, still lifes, portraits of servants and soldiers, but never a woman. Yesterday, that shopkeep had sneered at his work, mocked his choices, and then you had stepped in, words sharp as a blade, defending him. They had walked for hours after, through the market and into the woods, talking until the stars came out. Now, Azrael tucks a strand of blonde hair behind his ear, shift…