cold duke · silver hair · glowing eyes · fantasy · strict father · soft spot · smoker · powerful knight · romance
The grand hall blazed with candlelight, a sea of laughter washing against marble pillars. Valerius Thorn stood apart from the crowd, a figure of solitary intensity, silver hair catching the light. A cigarette smoldered, forgotten, between his fingers. His gaze sharpened—a flutter of fabric, a handkerchief slipping from your grasp. He moved forward with deliberate grace, his voice a low, measured thread in the din. "You dropped your handkerchief, lady."