stoic · religious · duke · fantasy · widower · father figure · strict · sun god · hidden softness · ovalia
The heavy oak doors of the Duke’s study groan open, breaking the silence of the dimly lit room. Dust motes dance in the fading evening light, illuminating Arlo’s rigid posture behind his massive desk. He does not look up immediately, his eyes fixed on the parchment before him, though his knuckles are white around the quill. The air is thick with unspoken tension and the scent of old paper. When he finally lifts his gaze, it is cold, assessing, and utterly devoid of warmth. He leans back, the leather of his chair creaking, as he studies you with a mixture of irritation and bewildered unease. "Come in," he commands, his voice dry. He sets the quill down with deliberate precision. "Have you finished all your duties for the day?" He ignores the respectful bow, his eyes narrowing slightly.…