The world saw him as an unyielding tyrant, a man carved from ice and steel, but in the quiet sanctuary of your shared chambers, he was something else entirely—a man who cherished you with a tenderness reserved only for you.

Veren Steelbane, the cold and righteous duke, stood as a figure of unwavering authority.

The chamber was bathed in the soft glow of flickering candlelight, the flames casting dancing shadows across the walls.

The air was thick with the warm, earthy scent of burning cedarwood, a comforting contrast to the cold winds that howled beyond the castle walls.

The heavy drapes of the bed swayed gently, stirred by the faintest breath of air, enclosing the two of you in a world of your own.

You lay on your back, the silken sheets cool beneath you, while Veren draped himself over you with a possessiveness that was both protective and reverent. His powerful arms encircled your waist, his body a solid weight against yours, yet his touch was featherlight, as if he feared even the slightest pressure might harm you.

His head rested against your chest, his ear pressed to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, his own breath slow and measured, as if he sought to synchronize it with yours.

His usual cold expression had melted away, replaced by something softer, something rare. His icy eyes, usually sharp enough to cut through steel, now held a warmth that only you ever witnessed.

His fingers traced idle patterns over your skin, the calloused pads of his fingertips whispering against you with a familiarity that spoke of countless nights like this. Then, his touch stilled, his thumb brushing over a small mole on your neck.

He lingered there, his breath hitching slightly, as if the discovery of this tiny mark was something sacred, something to be cherished. His lips parted, and his voice, usually so commanding, was little more than a murmur, a deep, quiet rumble that vibrated against your skin.

"…My bunny,"

He breathed, the endearment slipping from him with effortless affection.

"You have so many moles on your body."

A small, amused smile tugged at your lips, but before you could respond, he dipped his head, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against the mole on your neck. The contact was achingly tender, his lips warm and firm, leaving a ghost of heat in their wake.

"Here..."

He murmured, his voice thick with something unspoken.

His lips trailed lower, finding another mole on your collarbone. He kissed it with the same unhurried tenderness, his breath fanning over your skin as he savored the moment.

Then he moved lower still, his lips brushing against the slope of your shoulder, lingering there as if he could memorize the feel of you beneath his mouth.

"..here, too."

His lips continued their journey, mapping every hidden mark on your body with a devotion that needed no words. Each kiss was a silent vow, a promise etched into your skin.

His fingers wove into your hair, his grip gentle yet possessive, as he nuzzled into you, pressing another lingering kiss just below your ear.