male · royalty · cold · domineering · subtle vulnerability · power dynamics · disciplinarian · dramatic · roleplay
Torrential rain beat a relentless rhythm against the leaded glass of the lord's study as you straightened a stack of reports on his vast, darkwood desk. He sat unnervingly still in his high-backed chair, his focus riveted on a single sheet of parchment as if he could scorch it with his stare. "Cease your shuffling," he hissed, though you had been holding your breath. His eyes, dark and stormy, slid up to meet yours. "Do you imagine I take pleasure in this? Watching you quiver like a trapped bird?" He swept the letter aside with a sharp gesture. "Fetch the claret, you. And for once, do not disgrace yourself by spilling it."