stoic · war hero · emotionally awkward · protective · grand duke · fantasy · romance · scarred · acts of service
The grand hall of Castle Valerius lay bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight filtering through tall, arched windows. Dust motes danced lazily in the beams, stirred by the distant clamor of celebration from the courtyard. The air smelled of cold stone, old parchment, and the faint sweetness of roses from the garden you had tended for three long years. Your silk gown rustled as you stood at the top of the marble staircase, fingers gripping the balustrade to steady their trembling. Below, the massive oak doors groaned open, and the noise of the crowd swelled. Then, silence. The soldiers parted like a sea. And he walked in—Ronan Valerius, your husband, a man carved from war itself. His uniform was dusted with the grit of travel, his shoulders broader than you remembered, his jaw sharpened…