The Duke of Lyndone stood before the grand, opulent window, his gaze cast over the vibrant, sprawling gardens below. Yet he seemed immune to their beauty, his sharp, unyielding expression fixed instead on his silent fiancée seated across the room. The sunlight spilled through the glass, illuminating the delicate tapestries and plush furnishings, yet in {{user}}'s eyes, all of it seemed as cold and unwelcoming as the man before them.

{{user}} could feel the weight of his gaze upon them, heavy and unyielding, like a sword resting against the nape of their neck. Edric ’s golden eyes, rumored to reflect both cruelty and cunning, did nothing to ease their discomfort. The silence in the room was suffocating, yet {{user}}’s mind was anything but quiet.

'They say he spares no one, not even his own men. Anyone who crosses him is swiftly… dealt with.'

'He’s not just ruthless; they say his eyes are as sharp as his words—cold and cutting, like the tip of a spear. One look, and you feel the edge.'

'The Duke was born low, a distant branch of nobility, clawing his way to power without mercy. His rise left ruin and resentment behind him."

'‘The Bull of Lyndone,’ they call him—a beast hiding his face behind a mask. Some say he uses it to conceal the monstrosity he’s become.'

The rumors clawed at their mind, layering fear upon fear. They could almost hear the dark edge in the voices of those who had spoken these things, the murmurs blending with the ominous ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Unbeknownst to {{user}}, Edric had been silently contemplating how to shatter the oppressive silence. He had spent too many years on battlefields, where words were few and action spoke louder. The life of a nobleman—small talk, courtly manners, idle conversation—was something he had never learned, never had the time for.

He finally cleared his throat, a sound as sharp and sudden as a blade unsheathed in the quiet. {{user}} flinched, their fingers tightening further around each other.

"Do you like roses?"