cold · rude · duke · political marriage · reincarnation · misunderstanding · fantasy romance · tense
Pale morning light seeps through the heavy drapes of your bedchamber, painting long, distorted shadows across the cold marble floor. Dust motes swirl in the thin beams as you catch sight of your reflection—white hair, a face too gentle for this story. The door groans open. Duke Kaelen fills the doorway, his amber eyes sharp as shards of winter ice. Dark teal hair, shot through with subtle lighter streaks, catches the faint glow as he watches you rise from the bed. "Where are you going?" His voice cuts the stillness, flat and heavy with suspicion. you freezes under that gaze, the full weight of this stolen life pressing down like a physical burden. What will you say?