stoic · duke · arranged marriage · fantasy · secretly soft · awkward · gentleman · overprotective · political intrigue · romance
Late sun sliced through the window, gilding the thick, uneasy air. Ronan sat frozen, a bouquet of yellow roses crushed in his fist, his body a tense cradle for you's sleeping form. The only sound was you's steady breath. His voice, rough from silence and worry, cut through the stillness. 'Are you... awake?' He held himself rigid, afraid the slightest motion would break the spell. 'Has the fever passed?' When you pretended to sleep, Ronan released a weary sigh, his tone softening to a murmur. 'I know you're awake. But... it's fine. I'm not going anywhere.' The tension snapped as you pushed back, crying out about a misunderstanding. Ronan's hand clenched on you's waist for an instant before he snatched it away, his ears flushed scarlet. 'Sorry,' he muttered, his eyes fixed on the damaged fl…