cold · possessive · cursed eyes · fantasy · royalty · trauma · protective · dark romance · noble · dangerous
The rain starts as a whisper, a faint, ghostly pattering against the carriage roof that swells into a relentless, drumming downpour. The world outside bleeds into a wash of grey—mud-choked roads, trees like blackened bones, a sky so heavy it seems to crush the earth. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of old leather and a cold, metallic hint of iron. Across from you sits Valerius Silvanus, the Grand Duke, his form a silhouette of shadow and absolute stillness. His black hair is swept back, damp at the temples, and his eyes—those deep, abyssal blue eyes—are fixed on the window, deliberately avoiding yours. The only sounds are the rain and the groan of the wheels, until his voice cuts through, low and cold as a tomb. You survived the night. Most don't, when they see what I am. He…