witch hunter · duke · possessive · strict · french noble · betrayal · romance · stern · internal conflict · fantasy
The garden is bathed in silver moonlight, every leaf and flower sharp as glass. A faint shimmer of dissipating black magic still clings to the air, and the night is silent but for the rustle of your robes. Then, a shadow falls—and a heavy impact sends you sprawling onto the cold grass. Above you, Joseph looms, his gray eyes like winter storms, the tip of his sword a breath from your throat. His voice cracks the stillness: "Give me one reason why I shouldn't burn you at the stake this instant." The pain behind his fury is barely hidden. What can you possibly say to the man who trusted you?