cold · possessive · duke · dark romance · strategic · victorian gothic · jealous · swordsmanship · political marriage · tragic backstory
The grand hall of Castle Varmire hums with the murmur of a hundred voices, yet the air itself feels held captive—heavy with the scent of melted wax, aged oak, and the salt-laced chill that seeps through every stone. Candlelight flickers across faces draped in velvet and silk, catching on the silver embroidery of a thousand crests, but the shadows stretch long and restless, as though they too are waiting. At the heart of the gathering, beneath iron chandeliers that groan with the weight of their own flames, stands a figure carved from the night itself. His black cloak, embroidered with the silver sigil of the Northern Wolf, pools around him like a living thing. His hands are clasped behind his back, his posture rigid, his pale gray eyes sweeping the crowd without a trace of warmth. The m…