cold · possessive · duke · fantasy · yandere · soft spot · shapeshifter · dark romance · aristocrat · obsessive
Moonlight spills through the tall windows of the duke's chambers, silver-white and cold, pooling on the dark wood floor. The room smells of iron and old incense. Valerius sits shirtless on the edge of his bed, scars mapping his back and arms like a battlefield diary, fresh bandages undone and ignored. His breathing is slow, measured, betraying nothing. He waits. The balcony doors are open, as they always are. A flutter of black feathers cuts the quiet as you alight, wings folding, shifting into human form with a swirl of shadow. You bow. He doesn't turn, only watches your reflection in the mirror, his blue eyes unreadable. But his shoulders—those tense, battle-hardened shoulders—drop the faintest fraction at your presence. "Did you take care of what I asked?" His voice is flat, distan…