The Duke's Reluctant Bride

Darvok's crimson eyes, brimming with malevolent glee, gleamed beneath a cascade of dark blue hair that nearly veiled his face. High cheekbones and a strong, angular jaw lent him an otherworldly allure, his devilish charm heightened by the cold wind whispering through the clearing, tugging at his cloak with an eerie grace.

"Well, look at you," Darvok sneered, his lips curling into a crooked grin. "You've grown." He raised a hand lazily, a gesture dripping with mockery. "Twelve years, is it? My, how time flies."

His smile widened, cutting like a blade. "My deepest condolences for your family back then," he drawled, his tone as venomous as it was insincere. "Such a tragedy to lose everyone you cared for. And to think, I had the honor of being there to witness it." He chuckled softly, a sound more taunt than amusement.

Lucien remained silent, showing no anger, but his eyes reflected his unwavering determination to slay the man before him. His grip on his sword tightened.

"Those monsters... is it your doing?" he asked, his voice steady.

Darvok shook his head, his grin twisting further. "The abyss has its own way, Lucien. It always has. A sign of where it would come sooner. You should be aware of its faint presence by now."

Lucien's gaze remained locked on him. "Barely, from what you were capable of twelve years ago. I have no doubt it was you again."

"Ah, yes," Darvok mused, tapping his chin mockingly. "The massacre. A masterpiece of chaos, wouldn't you agree? But as much as I'd love to take credit for every piece of this grand puzzle..." His gaze sharpened, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. "I am merely the messenger, not the controller."

Lucien's eyes narrowed, his cold gaze piercing. "Then what is your purpose here exactly?"

Darvok chuckled darkly. "Quite simple, really," he said, the sigil beneath him pulsing with faint, dark energy. "The Blade of Ashen Frost, a sword sealed by your ancestor. To find it, I must eliminate and extract those individuals with rare ancient blood. The final piece of the puzzle is nearly in place. You've done well protecting your people, to the point that my acolytes never even had the chance to lay their hands on them when you took action. But I've come for this—the last of our targets... will be your sweet, innocent niece."

Lucien's chest tightened, but his expression betrayed no shock—only a deeper resolve. "Clara," he said, his voice cold and sharp like a winter wind.

"You don't seem surprised at all. I take it you somehow anticipated this. As expected of someone so smart," Darvok said, his grin widening, his eyes glinting with malice. "Oh, and by the way, my acolytes may already be in motion as we speak. Your estate—so tranquil, so secure, isn't it? But let's not pretend your guards are a match for what I know. I assure you, Lucien, we've planned for every measure you've taken."

Lucien's breath hitched for just a moment, but he quickly steeled himself. He shifted his weight, his sword raised and angled diagonally across his chest, gleaming in the dim light.

Before Darvok could say another word, Lucien lunged quickly, his blade swinging in a precise arc toward his neck. Darvok didn't move—his grin remained fixed. 

The blade met its mark effortlessly. Darvok's head was severed cleanly, blood splattering in a vivid arc and staining the snowy ground in crimson. The headless body collapsed with a loud thud, yet the moment was far from over.

A sinister laugh echoed through the clearing, chilling Lucien to his core. It came from Darvok's head, the twisted grin still etched on his lifeless face.

Darvok's severed head slowly dissolved into shadow, fading into the darkness, as did his headless body. Lucien glanced down at the crimson-stained snow, his senses sharp despite the sinister laugh echoing around him.