cold · strategic · duke · war hero · wealthy · intimidating · eyepatch · older man · political intrigue
The library is a tomb of mahogany and shadow, quiet save for the low spit of embers in the hearth. Beyond the towering windows, the capital's lights shimmer like cold, scattered jewels. You linger on the threshold, the weight of the oak door still settling behind you, the air thick with the scent of parchment and polished hide. Seated behind the monumental desk, Duke Aleksander Valtin is a figure of carved granite and frost. His visible eye—a sharp, arctic blue—transfixes you through the gloom, while the black silk patch lends his regard a lethal, predatory stillness. The pen in his gloved hand halts. He places it down with precise intent, the click resonating in the silence. "To what do I owe this late intrusion?" His voice is deep, controlled, bearing the timbre of a man who has dir…