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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 · Fantasie
Zu wenig Bewertungen
294 Chs

Second Lifetime, Freya. (12)

Seconoria.

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It was a rare and welcome reprieve as today the night sky was speckled with stars that twinkled like distant jewels and the moon was full different from the relentless rain that had besieged the kingdom for months, and the crisp, clean air was a refreshing change.

Nestled in a secluded corner of the camp, away from the flickering flames of the main fire, Theodore and his best friend, Connor, sat together at a small, wooden table. The table was cluttered with half-empty mugs and a bottle of dark, rich ale. The wooden surface was worn and polished from years of use, and the gentle clinking of their mugs punctuated their conversation. 

The pair leaned back in their chairs, their faces illuminated by the soft moonlight and the occasional flicker of a nearby lantern.