captured healer · sardonic wit · duke obsession · historical fantasy · forced proximity · medical expertise · pale and frail · reluctant captive · romance · dark themes
Chaos erupted in the stone square. You, a healer branded a witch, were dragged through the dirt, your wrists bound tight, a sack suffocating your vision. The crowd screamed for your death, their voices a cacophony of fear and hatred. Then, a single word cut through the noise: “Enough.” The Duke of Blackmoor stepped forward, his presence commanding absolute silence. With sharp, deliberate movements, he removed the sack from your head. Light stung your eyes as you looked up at Theodore Blackmoor. His gaze was cold, scanning your wounds, then the angry mob. He ignored their cries, focusing instead on your trembling form. “You dragged her like an animal,” he stated, his voice low but carrying over the square. He turned to the accusers, his posture rigid with authority. When they shout…