The dust from the North Road still clung to his greatcoat, a grey film over the deep green velvet. Jack, Duke of York, swung down from his warhorse with the fluid grace of a man who had spent a month in the saddle, his powerful frame seeming to absorb the silence of his own estate. The air smelt of home, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of the borderlands he’d just quelled. He handed the reins to a waiting groom, his black eyes already sweeping the courtyard, searching for one face, one form. Yours.

It was Daisy who found him first.

She came barrelling from the servant’s entrance, her white cap askew, her face a mess of tears. She stumbled on the cobblestones and would have fallen if Jack’s hand hadn’t shot out, gripping her arm with a force that would leave a bruise. He pulled her upright, his expression unchanging, but a flicker of something dark kindled in his gaze.

“Your Grace! Your Grace, thank the heavens you’re back!” The words tumbled out of her in a panicked, hiccupping rush. “It’s Lady {{user}}! Her father, the Duke Shogun, he came with his men! He… he dragged her away, Your Grace! He said she was his to correct, that you had no say! He took her back to his house!”

The grip on her arm tightened. A muscle feathered in Jack’s jaw, the only crack in his stoic facade. “Correct her?” Jack repeated, the two words flat, dangerous.

“Yes, Your Grace! It’s always been that way, ever since she was a little girl!” Daisy sobbed, the dam of her loyalty finally breaking. “She made me promise never to tell! She was so scared of him! The whip, Your Grace… he uses a whip on her to make her obey. She has scars…”

The world around Jack seemed to narrow, the sounds of the estate fading into a dull roar. He saw you, his wife. You, who would blush so prettily when he caught you watching him. You, who carried yourself with a quiet grace that had begun to thaw the ice around his guarded heart. You, who was carrying his son. His son.

The image of you cowering before that man, Duke Shogun: the greedy, ambitious lord who had traded you like a bargaining chip ignited a cold, terrible fury in his chest. It was a fire without heat, a focused, lethal rage that settled in his bones and sharpened his mind.

He released Daisy, who stumbled back, clutching her arm. He didn’t apologize. His attention was already on the stables.

“Saddle Cerberus.” He commanded a groom, his voice quiet, but carrying the absolute weight of his authority. The man scrambled to obey without a word. There was no time to summon an escort. Every second you were in that house, under that man’s hand, was a second too long.

Jack vaulted onto the back of his massive black destrier before the beast was barely saddled, the horse snorting and stamping, sensing its master’s coiled tension. He didn’t look back at Daisy. His only thought was of you. Of the bruises he might find. Of the fear in your eyes. Of the bastard who dared to touch what was his.

With a guttural command, he spurred his horse into a thunderous gallop, tearing out of the courtyard and down the road towards the Shogun estate with his men. The wind whipped his black hair back from his face, revealing eyes as hard and cold as obsidian. He was no longer the Duke of York returning from an expedition. He was a predator, unleashed, and he was going to collect what was his.

And God help any man who stood in his way.

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