The Nobleman With His Hand On His Chest Novels & Stories

Zia opened her eyes after not feeling any hands on her. She saw a large muscled arm stop the lady's hand. She can see his broad shoulders and a scar on his left-hand backside which is slightly visible from the inside of his black vest "If you have even a bit of shame, you wouldn't be raising your hands on a child it's expected that this village is filled with selfish and dumbass bastards anyway" he said as he pushed away the lady's hand with a little force ...

He was wearing his ancestor rings on his fingers while holding a small cup of wine in his long, pale, and slender fingers. "Yes," A man with blonde hair sat in front of him on the buffer. His hair was short and tied up by a fancy hairpin. He was wearing a furry white cloak with a brown robe beneath it. Half of his chest was visible and a scar can be seen on the left side of his chest. "Also, give me my payment. Do you know how much tensed I was to make the plague work at the right time?" The man said and Evandros grabbed a box from beneath the table, putting it in front of the man.

Miranda paused and turned back, her voice soft and gentle, “Sir, do you need more thread? I can assist you.” “I’m not here for thread,” the young nobleman replied with a warm smile. His fine attire and graceful demeanor made him appear even more distinguished, a picture of elegance and refinement. “I have another matter I’d like to request your help with. Would you be able to assist me?”

His fingers lowered from her hair and curled around her wrist, holding her hand to his chest. "I'm not a gentleman, not by any means, but" He smiled ruefully. "I would like to be here for you, sweetheart, in whatever way I can." She couldn't resist teasing him. "How noble of you." His soft chuckle seemed delightfully sinful. "Lord, everyone keeps accusing me of being so bloody noble all of a sudden. I am most certainly anything but that. If you could read my thoughts at this moment" "Oh?" She met his stare, surprised at the stark hunger, but rather than frighten her, it heated her blood and made her feel dizzy, as though she'd had too much mulled wine.

Making a frightened look, he dared to raise his voice, "Monsieur, you have a fever." Gently touching the elder's hand, the man in a green velvet robe shook his head and thick strands of hair fell on his forehead. “Don't worry Nicholas. Everything is fine with me. You can go." Gently removing his hand from his forehead, the man stood up and walked over to the fireplace. Flames played their chords furiously. Looking at the fire, the man touched his chest. The heart beat its rhythm. Feeling life behind his sternum, the man turned to Nicholas, his dark green eyes shining brighter than fire.

"Can I borrow your weapon, Sire?" She turned to look at the handsome young man by her side. She could see he was taken by surprise as she agreed but like a true noble he quickly dispelled his surprise and returned to his cheery gaze. He smiled lightly and raised the weapon. "Of course Young Miss." He handed the weapon to her. Elizabeth tried not to allow her cheek to grow hot from the way he purposely grazed his finger along her palm as he handed her the weapon. 'Must this noble act so shamelessly?' Elizabeth lamented in her head at the perverted actions, trying not go show her annoyance from his actions and her reaction

Up close, she noted details invisible during their brief interactions at the Pavilion: a thin scar along his left jawline, signs of fatigue around his eyes despite his composed demeanor, calluses on his hands that suggested he wielded weapons personally rather than relying solely on magical combat. He prepares the tea himself—significant break from noble protocol. And those hands have seen combat directly, not merely commanded it from safety. The scar and fatigue suggest reality beneath the perfect composed exterior. Not the immaculate noble whose hands never touch anything but magic and luxury. "You're wondering why I would offer such terms," he said without looking up from the tea preparat

Instead, she found the center of the marble floor occupied by six northern soldiers standing in a rigid line beside an object so enormous it appeared to have been delivered by siege equipment. It was a chest, though not an ordinary ceremonial coffer. The monstrous blackwood trunk was reinforced with iron and marked with the wolf insignia of the Black Dominion, while the two servants standing beside it looked as though they had personally carried the thing out of hell itself. Halrem stopped at the threshold. Chancellor Edrin, who already appeared profoundly exhausted by life, bowed stiffly. “Your Majesty.” Halrem looked at the chest, then slowly at him. “What is that.” Edrin cleared his throa

The timestamp in the corner read *02:14:11 AM*. In the center of the frame stood two men. One was Elias, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched in a way that looked completely foreign to the heir of the Hawthorne Group. The other man was taller, broader, his back mostly to the camera, but his hands were clear. He was holding a strip of black silk. His thumb was pressed against Elias’s throat, right over the carotid artery, in a gesture that looked halfway between an execution and an embrace.

As he sat there in a dark blue shirt whose top buttons were undone, I looked at his glistening chest that was alluring me towards it and couldn't help but gulp at the sight of it. He had folded his sleeves to his elbows, and the veins in his hand were a little too hard to ignore.