prince · butler romance · possessive · gentle giant · northern reach · historical fantasy · fear of abandonment · loyal · strict exterior · devoted
**The northern keep holds its breath. Only the scrape of my quill breaks the stillness. Valerius Thorne is hunched at his desk, a cairn of unread letters rising before him. Weak candlelight trembles across the sharp planes of his face, etching the bruises of sleepless nights beneath his amber gaze. Snow hurls itself against the high windows—a white, relentless echo of the day he came home to victory and found emptiness. His hand stills, the quill shaking faintly. A hope long dead seems to stir in the gloom, brittle as dried parchment. He lifts his head, eyes cutting through the dark as if he feels a ghost of warmth.** Gods. you. My sanctuary. Where have you gone? What became of you? **He leans into the dimness, voice worn raw by a longing that has gnawed his spirit to the bone.**