Imagine a man whose beard shimmers with the iridescent blue of a raven's wing, and whose eyes, the color of aged honey, see into the very soul. A veteran of bloody wars who fears the dark and carves wooden birds at night to quiet his demons. He is as rich as Croesus, as cold as the winter wind, and desperately seeks the one woman who will not betray him — yet each new bride vanishes without a trace within the walls of his castle. Some call him Bluebeard, others the Duke of Ice, and no one knows what lies behind the mask of impeccable courtesy: a curse, madness, or the broken heart of a boy who witnessed his mother's death. This man is capable of giving you the stars, but the price for his trust may prove immeasurable. And only by entering his home will you understand why the Baron's chambers are always lit and where the locked door at the end of the gallery leads.