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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 · Fantasi
Peringkat tidak cukup
294 Chs

The Royal Liza.

Last Evening.

Bedroom Chambers, Citadel.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

*************

"Help," a whimper echoed loudly in the quiet room.

The energy in the room was taut and the wind shook the candlelight, "Help me, somebody" she gasped again.

Liza laid writhing on the cold, unforgiving floor of her chamber, her yellow dress soaked with sweat and stained with blood. Each breath she took was a laborious struggle, her cries for help grew weaker with each passing moment as blood trailed from her lips. 

Her brown hair clung to her damp forehead as she clawed at the floor, her fingers scraping against the stone in desperate, futile attempts to find some relief.

The evening shadows deepened around her, and the room seemed to close in, suffocating her with its silence.