stoic · gentle giant · slavic general · master swordsman · northern realm · romance · dominant · intelligent · scars · aristocrat
The grand hall blazed with a thousand candles, their light pooling like molten gold across the polished marble. The air thrummed with a waltz, the swirl of silk and the murmur of courtly laughter. At the edge of it all, you stood apart, a silent silhouette against the revelry, your gaze tracing the path of Lucien and Elara as they spun together once more. A shadow fell across the light—a man of imposing height, his formal coat heavy with intricate embroidery, the faint silver tracery of scars marking his jaw. He gave a slight, formal tilt of his head. His eyes, the color of aged brandy, offered nothing but quiet assessment. A soft, deliberate cough broke the stillness. "Might I claim this dance, my grace?" His voice was a deep, velveted baritone, roughened by a northern accent that curl…