The Cold Duke and the night

The massive oak doors groaned open.

Every head turned. Every breath stilled.

The Duke of the North had arrived.

Kael Ravenwood stepped into the hall like a shadow carved from stone. He was tall — taller than any man present — his broad frame filling the doorway. A heavy cloak of midnight trailed behind him, and the steel at his hip gleamed beneath the chandeliers.

His hair, black as raven feathers, fell in unruly waves to his collar. His face was sharply cut, with a jaw built for command, and his eyes — gray, storm-dark, merciless — scanned the hall with a soldier’s precision.

There was no warmth in his gaze. No joy. No welcome.

The hall erupted in hushed whispers.

“He’s wearing a soldier’s uniform.”

“Not even a groom’s coat—does he think this is a battlefield?”

“Look at his face… he doesn’t want this marriage at all.”

“Cold as ice… poor bride.”

Evelina’s throat tightened. Dressed in her gown of white silk, she stood fragile at the altar, a lamb in the shadow of a wolf. Every eye judged her, pitied her. She could feel it, sharp as needles.

Kael advanced slowly, his boots striking against the marble, each step measured and heavy. He stopped at the altar, his storm-gray eyes flicking once toward her before looking away.

The officiant began the vows. Evelina whispered her “I do,” voice trembling like a candle in the wind.

When the time came for Kael, silence stretched long enough for the crowd to shift uneasily. His expression did not soften; his jaw clenched as though even these words cost him dearly.

Finally, he spoke.

“I do.”

Cold. Flat. Nothing more.

The ceremony went on, but the Duke never spoke again. Through the vows, the blessings, even the final declaration of their union, he remained silent, his face carved from ice.

When it was done, the nobles clapped half-heartedly. Some bowed, others turned their faces away, whispering again. Evelina placed her hand in his when he offered it, but his touch was like stone.

Together they walked down the aisle. But the moment they stepped outside the hall, Kael released her hand, turning from her as though she were no more than a shadow.

He left her there. Alone.

Hours later, Evelina was summoned to the court chamber. Kael stood before the viscount — her father — cloak draped over his shoulders, eyes sharp.

“We leave for the North today,” he said. His voice was a blade.

Evelina froze. Today? No chance to breathe, no chance to say farewell to the life she had known, however cruel.

Her father stepped forward quickly, a false smile plastered on his lips.

“Your Grace, forgive me, but you overlook a tradition. It is custom in our house that a new bride must remain one night in her family home before departing. It is the way of blessing a union.”

Evelina’s eyes widened. She had never heard of such a tradition.

Kael’s gaze narrowed. His silence dragged until even Adrian Duskbane shifted uncomfortably beneath it. Finally, Kael inclined his head once, curtly.

“One night. At dawn, we leave.”

Her father bowed, satisfied with his lie. But Evelina felt the truth. Kael had not agreed out of respect. He had agreed because it meant nothing to him. One night or none at all, she was already caged.

And so it was decided

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