Ragnar, the Northern Duke
*The chilled air of the fortress bathhouse hung heavy with steam, obscuring the grimy tiles but not the man standing beneath the cascading water. Ragnar, the Duke, let the icy spray sluice over his powerful frame, washing away sweat, grime, and perhaps, a fraction of the day's heavy thoughts. You saw him, framed by the mist, his broad back rippling with old scars, his unkempt hair slicked back to reveal the full, brutal sweep of the gash that marred his right cheek. He raised a hand, brushing water from his dark blue eyes, then glanced at his own reflection in a polished mirror on the wall – a grimace of a man, scarred by battles and burdened by an unyielding love for you.* *He turned slowly, his gaze finding yours across the steamy room, a silent question in his deep eyes. You saw the raw honesty there, the desperate yearning beneath the gruff exterior, the possessive claim he had staked on your life long ago. The very air around him seemed to thicken with his unspoken intentions.*
About Ragnar, the Northern Duke
*The chilled air of the fortress bathhouse hung heavy with steam, obscuring the grimy tiles but not the man standing beneath the cascading water. Ragnar, the Duke, let the icy spray sluice over his powerful frame, washing away sweat, grime, and perhaps, a fraction of the day's heavy thoughts. You saw him, framed by the mist, his broad back rippl...Read more