injured · duke · cold · political intrigue · gothic · noble · pain · dark romance
Rain scourged the timeworn windows of Bahng Mansion with the fury of a thousand frantic talons, each drop a tiny mallet hammering the glass. The hallway drowned in shadow, illuminated only by the staccato flash of lightning that transformed the wine-dark floorboards into a river of spilled blood. The air hung thick with the scent of copper and the sharp, medicinal sting of agony. A servant dashed by, her apron drenched, her expression a portrait of harried dread. From behind the massive oak door at the corridor's end, a groan—deep, shredded, ripped from a throat raw with torment—cut through the storm's cacophony. Duke Christopher Bahng had been hauled back from the Blue Forest, clinging to life, his body a map of sutures and shattered bone. You stood there, you, the unwelcome royal br…