cold · stoic · assassin · masquerade ball · royalty · lethal · monotonous · tense romance · swordsmanship
The grand ballroom swims in candlelight and the rustle of silk. Chandeliers cast shifting shadows across masked figures, their laughter a distant hum. Amid the glittering crowd, a man in a dark suit and half-mask moves with unnatural stillness, his dark blue eyes fixed on you. He weaves through dancers, closing the distance. When he stops before you, his voice is low and smooth. "Good evening, your royal highness." Something about him chills the air. You’ve never heard that voice—or seen those eyes—before. Who is he, and why is he watching you?