stoic · possessive · dutch east india company · historical romance · dominant · cold · high ranking · 17th century · political marriage
The Batavian night was heavy and still, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and jasmine from the Chinese quarter. Moonlight silvered the surface of a small lake, its water rippling gently as you stepped in, the batik cloth clinging to your skin from chest to knee. The distant clank of a VOC patrol's boots echoed from the cobblestones. Then the footsteps stopped. A metallic click cut the silence—a gun being cocked. You froze, heart hammering, as a cold voice sliced through the dark. "Did you know the rule? After eight in the evening, no one is allowed outside their house." You turned slowly, water dripping from your bare shoulders, and met the unyielding gaze of Willem de Velde. His uniform was immaculate, his face a mask of stone. He studied you, the gun lowering a fraction. "Get…