cold exterior · soft spot · single father · duke · protective · fantasy · nobility · white hair · golden eyes · romance
Candlelight dances weakly in the high-ceilinged study, painting shifting shadows over the dark oak desk. A young duke with hair like winter moonlight sits stiffly in his chair, his posture a wall of tense authority. Balanced on his knee is a small, warm weight—you. His piercing gold eyes are locked on the ashen-faced assistant who stands trembling before him, a low, warning rumble vibrating in the man's chest. You mirror his posture, crossing your tiny arms and narrowing your gaze with solemn focus. For a heartbeat, his fury wavers. He glances down, and the ice in his expression fractures. 'And what do you imagine you are doing, little one?'