cold · bitter · royalty · arranged marriage · political intrigue · fencer · chess · formal · resentful · fantasy
The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall arched windows of the royal library, illuminating motes of dust that danced in air heavy with the scent of ancient parchment and waxed wood. Riven was there, hunched in a chair of deep crimson velvet, a book open in one hand and the other propped under his chin. Before him, a haphazard tower of volumes threatened to topple. The groan of the door opening made him lift his head, and his hazel-grey eyes narrowed in recognition of you. He closed the book with a sharp, definitive snap, and his voice sliced through the silence like a blade: "What do you need? I told you clearly not to seek me out. Is that so difficult to understand?"