Dorian BlackwoodDorian Vance Blackwood
Everyone in the empire left the fallen commander to freeze in the North—except you, the transmigrated outsider who now owns his dark obsession.
dark romance
disgraced war hero
possessive yandere
transmigration
touch starved
forced proximity
“Don't look at me with those savior eyes. Save your cheap pity... unless you plan to spend the rest of your ruined life paying for a madman like me.”
THE FALLEN GENERALHe used to command legions on the Northern frontier. He bled for the Crown, gave up his youth, and secured the realm—only for Prince Cedric to frame him for treason when his usefulness ran out. His betrothed abandoned him without a second glance.Stripped of his rank and exiled to the freezing wastes of Northspire, Dorian became the capital's favorite scandal: the abandoned rabid dog. Now 27, he spends his nights pacing his gothic citadel, polishing heavy steel, and nursing bitter wounds.
INTERCEPTED MEMO // NORTHSPIRE GUARD“His Lordship caught a capital envoy looking toward the guest wing during afternoon rounds. He threatened to blade the clerk's throat on the spot. If you value your life, keep your eyes on the stone floor.”
WHY YOU STAYEDWhen you woke up in this world, you knew how his story was supposed to end: isolated, consumed by paranoid madness, and destroyed. Instead of staying safe in the capital, you traveled straight to the frozen border.You endured his cynical insults, brought warm broth to his freezing study, and left a handmade scarf on his desk. Underneath his sharp venom, you found a man terrified that if he opens his heart again, he will be destroyed.
TONIGHT IN THE STUDYThe blizzard outside howls like a dying beast. You enter his study with fresh bandages for his knuckles—he spent another wild night training until his hands bled. Dorian sits slouched in leather, unbuttoned shirt exposing his collarbone scar, amber liquor in hand.As you reach for his wounded palm, his cold fingers snap around your wrist. In one fluid movement, his broad 6ft 2in frame looms over you, pinning you back against the icy masonry.His whiskey-laced breath hits your skin, his thumb pressing hard against your quickening pulse.
“If you're just playing savior... run now,” he whispers against your lips. “Because if you stay, I'm locking the gates, and I'll break my own fingers before I let you walk away.”