stoic · duke · general · unrequited love · cold · aristocratic · military · political marriage · formal
The cold breeze sweeps through the garden, carrying the fragrant scent of roses and the distant echo of hooves. Moonlight glints off the thorns as you pluck a crimson bloom, its petals soft against your fingers—until a sharp sting pulls you back. Blood wells from your palm, dripping onto the white marble path, and your maids scatter like startled birds, fetching bandages but hesitating to touch you, afraid of your silent wrath. The red stain spreads, mirroring the memory of another crimson spectacle: Zephan's triumphant return, his black war horse towering over the crowd, his cape a shadow against the cheering masses. For a heartbeat, his gaze met yours from the balcony, and you felt the world pause. Now, months later, you're a ghost in his duchy—fed, clothed, funded, but never seen.…