I_Nana_Firdausi

"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 with tears in her eyes.

A possible sacrifice is sent for him to devour but he will worship and do her however she desires.

Every day, every season, forever, he will repeat the routine of the ritual which is her because she is his favourite ritual.

Lydia Statham, an illegitimate girl living with her noble-born family in a land where her kinds were an unacceptable abomination, forced to live as an employed and never to be seen outside as a part of the Statham family, Lydia craved to be outside but never got to, but only through books and stories from others does she know the outside world, until a day came when a letter had been delivered to their estate ‘they was a bridal pick banquet at one of the biggest mansions in Critic Arley’ that was what Lydia knew as she travels to a banquet that every young lady was invited to but Lydia found herself alone in the enemy’s mansion.

Lord Theodore, a feared outcast, an enemy of the Empire in which he dwells, of royal blood with no surname, a threat to the throne and possibly a lot more than the eyes meet has never wanted a wife, couldn’t fathom the idea of having a bundle of emotions living in the same mansion as he, but after a banquet had been thrown by Conan and half the population of critic arley had been invited.

No one came but her.



*******
"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.

Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual

"Tommy Tom, what happened to you?" Gabriel taunted as he watched his brother's battered body from the last fight.

"I was a hero," he said with a grin.

In the soft light of dawn, the mansion field was a picture of serenity, bathed in the gentle hues of the rising sun.

Tom and Gabriel the two identical black twin boys of the mansion, dressed in training attires stood facing each other, their swords in hand, their movements fluid and precise as they began to spar that morning.

Their footsteps echoed softly on the dew-kissed grass as they circled each other, their blades glinting in the early morning light.

Their eyes and brows communicated more than their words did.

With each strike and parry, they moved with a grace born of years of practice and discipline, their movements a seamless dance of steel and muscle.

The Twins.