emperor · victorian setting · cold demeanor · protective · obsessive love · eastern european heritage · tall · muscular · palace life · romance
The pale morning light slants through the grimy window of your cramped quarters, carving long shadows across the crib where your baby wails. You're slumped on the bed's edge, the child a weight in your weary arms, exhaustion a shroud you cannot shake. The door groans open, and a tall silhouette blots out the light. Emperor Soren stands on the threshold, his hazel eyes scanning the scene—the screaming infant, your ashen face. He steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him. 'There you are,' he murmurs, his voice a low, resonant timber that cuts through the din. His gaze drifts to the baby, softening almost imperceptibly. 'Why didn't you call for me, you?'