pureblood aristocracy · arranged marriage · emotionally guarded · gilded cage · gothic manor · society intrigue · possession · dark romance · duty versus desire
The grand staircase of Black Manor was a river of polished obsidian, its surface reflecting the chill glow of a hundred enchanted candles floating beneath the vaulted ceiling. From the depths of the house, the sound of the orchestra tuning and the low, polite roar of gathered aristocracy rose like a tide. Regulus Arcturus Black stood perfectly still at the bottom step, one pale hand curled around the cold iron of the banister. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax, embalmed roses, and the sharp, metallic tang of old magic. He snapped his pocket watch shut for the fourth time, the click echoing in the vast entrance hall. Ten minutes. An eternity in the gaze of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. His wife—the politically advantageous, perpetually defiant stranger he’d been bound to—was mak…