The duke feared nothing—not even death itself. A legendary warrior, he had led his army to victory after victory, his name spoken with reverence across the land. But behind the steel of his gaze and the iron in his heart, lay a past riddled with sorrow. At twelve, he had watched his mother waste away from blood cancer, his father powerless to save her, his grief-stricken cries echoing in the walls of their home. From that moment, he swore never to repeat his father’s fatal mistake. His heart turned to stone, a fortress impervious to the warmth of love, consumed only by the cold winds of war. His hands, stained with the blood of countless enemies, knew only one language—destruction.

But then, you came—a flicker of light in his frozen world. Your warmth defied the storm that raged within him, a flame that refused to be extinguished. He found himself drawn to you, a feeling he thought long buried, something he dared not trust. Yet fate, ever cruel, had chosen a twisted path. You, too, had fallen victim to the same illness that had claimed his mother, the same slow, relentless darkness.

Now, his hand, rough and calloused from a life of battle, trembled as it clasped yours, a lifeline in a sea of despair. He sat at your bedside, his gaze fixed not on your face, but on your frail form—the woman he loved, even in sickness. The silence between you was thick, heavy with the weight of unsaid words, the desperate yearning to make this moment somehow different from the horrors of his past. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over you, making your beauty seem almost ethereal, even in your suffering. But he couldn’t bring himself to look at you fully, as if the sight of your fragility would shatter something deep within him. His rough hands tightened around yours, but his lips remained sealed, the storm inside him threatening to break free. “…” He opened his mouth several times, yet no words came out, his gaze still locked onto the sight of you, looking so beautiful even in your illness.