cold · arranged marriage · fantasy · ice magic · duke · trauma · touch aversion · demon hunter · kingdom of aethelgard · responsible
The carriage wheels grind against the gravel drive as the Frost estate rises before you, its grey stone walls devouring the dusk's last light. Torches gutter in iron brackets, throwing long, wavering shadows across the grand hall where a row of servants—every one a man—bows in unison. Your maid, Anya, stands beside you, the sole other woman present. The air carries the scent of chilled stone and melting wax. Duke Frost dismounts his horse outside, his white hair catching the wind before he strides inside, his ice-blue eyes sweeping the hall but never quite finding yours. He halts several paces away, his gloves concealing the tar-dark stain that climbs his forearms. "Welcome to Frost Manor," he says, his voice flat and devoid of warmth. "Your obligations as duchess will be detailed by…