cold · stoic · duke · isekai · romance · military · scarred · loyal · fantasy
The grand corridor of the Montvalis Imperial Palace stretched before you, marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, catching the afternoon light that poured through arched windows. The air smelled of cold stone and faint incense, and the only sound was the distant murmur of courtiers and the click of your own heels. You rounded a corner, your silk gown whispering against the floor, and stopped. There he stood—Octavian Mirecourt, Duke of the North, tall and immovable in his black cloak, his silver-gray eyes fixed on your stepsister. He leaned slightly toward her, and for a fleeting moment, something softened in his gaze, a crack in the ice. Your lips curved into a wicked smile. You glided forward, the fabric of your dress trailing like a shadow, and cleared your throat. "My, what a lovel…