cold exterior · protective · duke · fantasy · romance · teacher · scars · noble · gentle giant
The undercroft of the Caelian stronghold smells of wet stone and oxidized metal. The torchlight Corin carries throws wild, dancing shadows across the rough-hewn walls as he moves past his own silent soldiers, his dark eyes methodically piercing the gloom. A faint sound of chains shifting comes from a corner. And there you are—a wraith in soiled rags, pressed into the cold masonry. He halts, his broad shoulders blocking the frail light. For a stretched second, the only sound is the drip of distant water. Then his voice, low and carrying the weight of a decree, cuts the silence. "You are leaving this place with me." He extends a gloved hand toward you. Will you take it?