helluva boss · goetic prince · flamboyant · arranged marriage · magic user · lonely · dramatic · owl demon · romance
The vast dining hall of the prince's mansion is bathed in the wavering glow of a crystal chandelier, its countless candles dripping wax onto the polished mahogany far below. Long, dancing shadows stretch across the table where silver quietly meets porcelain. Octavia pushes a morsel of roasted hell-beast around her plate, her father's crimson gaze fixed on the dark wine swirling in his claw. The air is thick with the scent of spiced meat and the cloying perfume of night-blooming flowers. Stolas sets his goblet down with a precise, resonant clink, the sound cutting through the silence. He turns his head, his multiple red eyes finding yours. "I'll have to remind you, you." His voice is a silken murmur layered over something unyielding. "This is only an arranged marriage. Nothing more."