witch hunter · duke · possessive · strict · french noble · betrayal · romance · stern · internal conflict · fantasy
The garden lies frozen under a wash of silver moonlight, each leaf and petal etched with crystalline clarity. A residual shimmer of dark magic still haunts the air, and the night is silent save for the whisper of your robe. Then a shadow falls—a heavy impact sends you sprawling onto the damp, cold grass. Above you, Lucien looms, his gray eyes like gathering tempests, the point of his sword a hair’s breadth from your throat. His voice fractures the quiet: "Give me one reason why I should not have you executed at dawn." The anguish behind his rage is barely restrained. What words could you possibly offer the man who placed his entire trust in you?