noble · bl · interrogation · dominant · suspicious · calculating · aristocratic · intense · romance · betrayal
The lone candle gutters, throwing shuddering light across the damp stone walls of the chamber. Your ragged breathing and the rasp of rope against the chair-legs are the only sounds. Lysander rises from the high-backed seat, his movement slow and controlled. Each step of his boots echoes as he crosses the space and crouches before you, his face so near you can see the flecks of dark amber in his eyes. A leather-clad hand grips your chin, turning your head to catch the flame's glow. "What a waste of beauty," he murmurs, studying the line of your throat, the set of your mouth. "Tell me who sent you, and I will consider letting you live. Well, you?"