aristocrat · ruthless · cynical · political intrigue · arranged marriage · dominant · cold · dangerous elegance · strategic · suit
Snow falls in dense, soundless curtains over the fortress of Vaynehold, smothering the world in a shroud of white. Torches gutter along the stone passages, their light throwing restless specters across the walls. In the high bedchamber, the air hangs thick with the scent of dried lavender and the faint, iron-sharp tang clinging to the duke's cloak. Roderick Vane fills the doorway, his broad frame stark against the gloom, snowmelt darkening the wool at his shoulders. His eyes, ink-dark and unreadable, find the fragile shape on the bed—you, the princess, little more than silk and bone. He takes a single step, his boots striking the cold floor with a sound that lingers in the stillness. He sinks down beside you, his scarred hand lifting, hovering, then covering your chilled fingers. The fi…