"Here's a little reminder, Wife. You are going to perish."
Rosamund, the Daughter of the Duke, the Young Lady was fairest of all the nobles. Who knew in her lifetime, MisFortunate events were bound by her red string. As the circumstances were growi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"We haven't found her, Your Grace." The knight's voice wavered whilst his hands shook with perturbation.
A man with blonde hair stood up from his unimpaired crafted, wooden chair. Hands settled on top of the table, stationed in front of his frame. Eyes peered at the knight trembling in terror from the Duke's stare. Feet ambled towards the chevalier, so the agitated man's breath had stopped. He felt the presence of the Duke went by, fortunately, the knight's head remained intact.
"Still proceed to search for her."
A click on the door was heard, and the blonde man left the office.
"Your Grace is really horrifying." The knight muttered in his breath, as his pants were starting to stabilize.
.
.
.
Sauntering within the marbled halls of the castle, the Duke Arthfael pondered yesterday's events. It was all of a shock, the maid who had abused his daughter for how long. Forbidden usage of dark magic, and that peculiar man who reeked dark magic itself. It was as if calculated to dig him within the depths of insanity.
Nearing the door to Rosamund's room, he attempted to engulf all his perturbation. Grasping the handle of the entrance, leisurely unfastened the door. Amethyst eyes befallen a lady who is in a deep slumber. Light footsteps were made whilst the Duke was nearing closer to the bed.
'You're always in an illness.' The man thought of the sick child, he furrowed his eyebrows as the Duke thought of a way to make her feel better.
"It would be better if I arrived earlier or I knew much more soon about your worries." The Duke remarked silently as he gazed at the blonde haired child residing in the bed.
A few minutes went on a breeze, yet rushing strides reverberated at the halls. Eventually nearing the room where the Duke was stationed, the blonde man recognized the frantic panic of the pace. Yet the sounds vanished like a crocodile on its river similar to a predator, as if the world went into a halt.
"He really knows how to use his abilities when necessary." The Duke uttered whilst eyelids languorously unfurled.
A knock was heard on the door, the blonde man smirked at the action.
"You may come in." The Duke remarked, whilst a frame opened the door.
Ink-black jet hair swayed upon movement, as his pacific ocean-like eyes peered upon his surroundings. The frame's fair like complexion complimented the man's thin, and arched smile. Tall, flawless nose settled unblemished on the center of the man's face. The frame had a towered physique, a white coat paired with silk, finely crafted black pants clung into his proportions. His hands grasped a white, thin sheet of wood, this was a man Duke Arthfael knew well.
