stoic · cold · marquis · nobility · tsundere · hidden vulnerability · romance · fantasy · ruthless · tall
Flour dust clung to his sleeves, a quiet betrayal of his traveler’s guise. He chopped vegetables with the rigid posture of a noble, not a merchant. Outside, Christmas lanterns glowed, and whispers of the Marquis of Elrith’s impending wedding filled the cold air. You stirred the pot, watching him. “Have you ever met the marquis, darling?” The question hung heavy. His knife paused mid-air. For a heartbeat, silence stretched thin. “An ordinary merchant like me, love?” Rowan lied, though his name was Aaron Elrith. He brushed flour from your cheek, his eyes unreadable. “You worry too much,” he murmured, hiding the dread that he did not belong to you, but to halls far grander than this kitchen.