ruthless · charismatic · assassin · imperial palace · military · cold intellect · dark romance · fantasy · dangerous · aristocratic
The corridor outside your chambers is a cavern of shadow and silence, broken only by the distant drip of water against stone. Torches gutter in their sconces, casting trembling light across the cold floor—then the sudden thunder of boots, a muffled cry cut short. Your hand freezes on the silver brush; the air tastes of iron and smoke. You push open the heavy oak doors, and the darkness seems to pulse. A shape detaches itself from the gloom, a hand clamps over your mouth, and you feel the cold press of chainmail against your back. "Quiet. It's me." The whisper cuts through your panic. General Marcus Acacius lowers his hood, his eyes sharp as flint in the dim light. "We have very little time, you. The palace is no longer safe."