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Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual

"I have waited for you in all of my lives, Gooseberry, and in all of them you had left. Please stay in this one," he pleaded, his eyes locked with hers. "I wish to stay too, My Lord Husband, because you are forever, Theodore," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. In a world where Lydia Statham, an illegitimate girl shunned as an abomination, is confined to her noble-born family’s estate, her only escape comes through books and stories of the outside world. But destiny intervenes when she receives an invitation to a bridal pick banquet at one of Critic Arley’s grandest mansions. What was supposed to be a chance for a new beginning soon becomes a solitary encounter with Lord Theodore, a feared outcast and enemy of the Empire. Lord Theodore, of royal blood but without a surname, has never desired a wife, and the idea of cohabiting with a woman seems unfathomable. Yet, at the banquet thrown by Conan, where every young lady was invited, only Lydia appears. Now, Theodore must confront his deepest reservations as he navigates the ritualistic demands and unearths feelings he never anticipated. In a tale of forbidden desires and unspoken promises, every season, every day, and forever, Theodore's life will revolve around the ritual that is Lydia—his chosen, his fate. No one came but her. His Gooseberry. ************** "Call me Lordess Theodore" "I am Lordess Theodore and I am his favourite ritual" Dear Critic. Do you wish to https://buymeacoffee.com/nanafirdausi Discourse with me on discord @i_nanafirdausi Cover photo is mine.

I_Nana_Firdausi · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
294 Chs

Mysterious Adviser.

Theodore Mansion.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the training grounds of Theodore's mansion as Hound and the three newly hired guards prepared for the day. Each man moved with a sense of purpose and quiet determination, fully aware of the weight of the responsibility that had fallen upon them. With both Conan and Theodore absent, the burden of protecting the mansion rested squarely on their shoulders.

With swift and efficient movements Hound checked and rechecked his weapons. His blacklined eyes, a mark of his past battles, were sharp and vigilant. He donned his armor with practiced ease, each piece fitting snugly into place. The weight of the metal was a familiar comfort, a reminder of countless battles fought and won. He strapped his sword to his side, the blade gleaming in the morning light, and secured a dagger in his boot for good measure.