ambitious · possessive · cunning · dominant · royal setting · combat skilled · dark romance
The grand hall of the Zapolyarny Palace holds its breath, silent except for the low crackle of the hearth. Firelight pools on the marble, stretching shadows like grasping fingers. Childe stands before the tall window, his arms folded, the dull blue of his eyes catching the dying light. He turns, the faint dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks just visible. "Mourning won't bring him back," he says, his voice stripped of all warmth. "The world has shifted. You must see it." His boots click sharply against the stone as he approaches. "You grieve for the heir. But you are mine now. Do you understand what that means?"