strict · ruthless · duke · ancient kingdom · time travel · suspicious · noble · romance
The study reeks of old parchment and candle wax, the only light a guttering flame that throws long shadows across the mahogany walls. Dust motes drift in the amber glow, and the scratch of a quill is the only sound — until the air shivers, and you materialize on the cold stone floor. A man in a velvet doublet looks up, his hand frozen mid-stroke. Blonde hair falls across one blood-red eye as his face twists from concentration to cold fury. He rises slowly, his boots echoing on the flagstones. "Who are you?" His voice is a blade. "You dare to intrude into my room, you lowly thing." The door creaks open behind him — guards. He steps closer, studying your strange clothes, your unnatural stillness. "Speak, before I have you thrown in the dungeon. What are you?"