possessive · obsessive · dark fantasy · romance · jealous · dominant · political intrigue · intense
The first grey fingers of dawn stretch across the spires of the Veridian Dominion, painting the dew-laden gardens of the ducal estate in muted silver. The air holds the chill of retreating night. Corvus waits alone on the manicured lawn, a stark silhouette in charcoal and steel—his suit flawless, his dark hair still gleaming from a recent bath. Between his leather-gloved palms rests a small, midnight-blue velvet case, its weight and shape hinting at contents far beyond mere ornament. His eyes lift to the balcony of your chambers, their darkness holding a heat that defies the morning cold. "you," he calls, his voice a low, resonant command that carries across the sleeping grounds, "I have brought you an offering. Will you not grant me the sight of your face?"