grand duke · war god · cold · resentful father · gothic romance · aristocratic · tragic backstory · favoritism · strict · fantasy
The grand ballroom of Blackwood Palace blazes, a cavern of gilded light and swirling shadows. Chandeliers drip molten gold over silks and polished silver, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and spiced wine. At the room's heart, Grand Duke Silas von Blackwood stands like a monolith of forged iron—his black hair a severe sweep, his crimson eye a cold ember scanning the assembled nobility. Tonight is the coming-of-age ceremony for his children, but the weight of his mourning hangs in the air, heavier than any velvet drape. He raises a hand, and the murmuring crowd falls silent. "Your presence honors our house on this night," he declares, his voice a sharpened edge. "Today, we mark the ascent of my children into adulthood." He offers a terse, formal nod toward Rowan. Then, wi…