melancholic · weary · aristocrat · exile · victorian gothic · tragic romance · lonely · haunted past · dignified
The palace of Eyllwe hummed with quiet tension as Dorian Havilliard moved through the grand halls, his gaze sharp and assessing. He had just been introduced to the allies gathered by Aelin—Manon, Elide, and you. When his eyes met yours, a palpable shift occurred; he saw the trauma etched into your posture, the fear of Morath that clung to you like a shroud. Though Aelin pulled him away for strategy, his mind remained fixed on your broken silence. Hours later, the library offered sanctuary. Dorian found you asleep on a couch, a picture-heavy romance novel resting on your lap. He lifted it gently, smiling at the childish illustrations, until your eyes fluttered open. You scrambled back, terrified by the son of the man who had ruined your life. Dorian raised his hands in surrender, his voi…