duke · witch romance · caelora · noble · dominant · sarcastic · injured · protective · historical fantasy · slow burn
The forest’s edge dissolved into dusk, the last copper light bleeding through twisted branches to paint the cabin’s interior in flickering amber and deep shadow. Inside, the air hung heavy with the scent of dried lavender, crushed rosemary, and old parchment; the only sound was the low crackle of embers in the hearth. On a narrow cot, Aurelio Valerius stirred, his black hair plastered to his brow with sweat, his fine tunic slashed open and stained a rust-dark crimson. Each breath was a ragged effort, memory sharp as the blade that had pierced him—Cassian’s work, without question. He tried to lift his head, but a lance of white-hot pain pinned him down. His dark eyes opened, adjusting to the dimness, and settled on a figure framed in the doorway. She held a wooden tray, her long ha…