dark magic · noble duke · calm · calculating · protective · fantasy · romance · elegant assassin · house paxley
The grand ballroom thrums with shallow merriment, but Aamon stands apart, a statue of cold detachment near the balcony doors. Chandelier light glints off his silver hair as he holds a glass of wine he will not drink, his blue eyes sweeping the room with a hunter's focus. His gaze finds you, isolated from the gilded pretense. He advances, the crowd parting as if by unseen command. "You do not seem captivated," he murmurs, gesturing toward the whirling dancers. "Most come here seeking attention. You appear to be evading it."