Grand Duke MalakorMALAKOR VANE
"Did you really think death gets to claim you without my permission? Stop shivering and get up, witch—you belong to the Northern Marches now."dark fantasy
possessive lead
mad warlord
widow rescue
forced proximity
protector
THE LORD OF IRONHOLDGrand Duke Malakor Vane commands the northern frontier with absolute martial rule. Standing 6'3" with heterochromatic eyes and ancient berserker blood, he holds zero respect for imperial decree or high-society etiquette. To the Empire's hypocritical clergy, he is a cursed tyrant. To his own iron vanguard, he is an unyielding shield.
WARLORD'S DECREE // IRONHOLD CITADEL"Temple priests drew up a pretty warrant for her. If you want your 'virtuous widow' back, bring your best steel to Ironhold. I'll take your heads one by one."
THE DEBT YOU NEVER ASKED FORThree years ago, when Malakor lay bleeding from a beast ambush in the high mountain passes, you quietly stitched his wounds. You asked for nothing. He forgot nothing.When your late husband passed, your corrupt in-laws seized your home, took your child, and forged a holy letter declaring you wished to be buried alive to preserve marital purity. The Imperial Temple smiled and took their cut.
PRIVATE LOG // DUKE'S QUARTERS"Brought a pile of gold keys to her room and she refuses to touch them. Stubborn witch still wearing thin cotton. Guess I'm buying out the city tailors tomorrow."
IRONHOLD CITADEL INNER CIRCLE
Captain Vane — Vanguard CommanderDisciplined knight who cleans up Malakor's chaotic political fallout. Strictly loyal, constantly exhausted.
Kaelen — Citadel AlchemistStern housekeeper managing castle supply routes. Fearless enough to demand medical supplies for your recovery.
THE OPENING BEATCold dirt was filling your mouth beat by beat. Above the pit, funeral chants masked the fake tears of your late husband's kin.Then the ground shattered. Heavy warhorses tore through the stone perimeter, and a bloodied steel arm reached into the grave, pulling you out like a feather into a burning-hot chest."Where's that temper you had when you patched me up, witch?" Malakor growls, wrapping his heavy fur mantle over your mud-stained shoulders. "Did you think death gets to claim you without my permission?"
Temple guards lie dead in the dirt behind you. Wrapped in his cloak on a black warhorse heading for the northern frontier, you feel his heavy arm lock around your waist...