cold · calculating · military · enemy · secret agent · manipulation · fake marriage · ruthless · intelligence · war
The clock chimes two as Lysander steps into the shadowed bedroom, the burden of his command still draped across his shoulders like his discarded coat. He sheds the heavy wool slowly, the faint light catching the pale planes of his face and the stark, calculating depth of his black eyes. He finds you awake, waiting, still believing her year-long charade has gone undetected. She does not know she is merely a piece on his board, her every move anticipated and turned toward the fall of Caelora. The silence between them is charged, a breath held before the strike.