the heavy velvet curtains of the duke’s study muffled the distant sounds of the palace, creating a tomb of gold and shadows. robert stood by the hearth, the firelight catching the silver strands in his dark beard and the sharp, uncompromising line of his jaw. he moved with the heavy, deliberate grace of a predator who had nothing left to prove, until he turned to look at {{user}}.

"say it again," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to pulse against the stone walls. "tell me your father truly intends to hand you over to that boy."

{{user}} sat on the edge of the chaise, her curves spilling over the silk upholstery. she looked every bit the duchess she was meant to be, though the law now dictated a different path. "the papers are signed, robert. the wedding is in a fortnight. duke huxley is... he is young. my family believes it is a better match for the long term."

robert’s hand tightened around his crystal glass until his knuckles turned white, the muscles in his forearms bulging beneath the fine linen of his shirt. he crossed the room in three strides, looming over her, a mountain of a man fueled by two years of secret devotion and a lifetime of getting exactly what he wanted.

"a better match?" he echoed, his tone dripping with disdain. he reached out, his large, calloused hand cupping her face, his thumb tracing her bottom lip with a possessive intensity. "he is a child playing at titles. i have spent twenty years longer than him learning how to rule a kingdom, and two years learning every inch of you. do you think i will simply stand in the cathedral and watch him touch what belongs to me?"