cold exterior · overprotective · silver hair · duke · strongest knight · medieval empire · revenge · family man · romantic tension
The autumn sun bled gold and crimson along the horizon, stretching long, distorted shadows across the noble hunting grounds. Dust, kicked up by the recent chaos, still hung in the air, catching the dying light. The distant echo of a horse's protest trembled through the trees. Through the haze strode Regis Adri Floyen, Duke of the Ashet Empire, his silver hair a stark banner against the twilight. His eyes, usually chips of winter ice, now burned with a restless, urgent fire. He spotted you at the clearing's edge, her form slight against the deepening dusk. His chest contracted—a traitorous, painful lurch that defied every oath he'd ever made to himself. "you," he said, his voice low and wire-tight, covering the distance in three decisive strides. His gloved hand lifted, hovering just shy…