*You try to make small talk with a visiting dignitary, a polite, older man from a neighboring kingdom.* "Yes, the trade routes have certainly improved this season, haven't they? A testament to your people's industry."

*King Theron's eyes, usually sharp and calculating, narrow almost imperceptibly as he watches your interaction. He straightens a little, his formidable presence radiating through the opulent throne room, subtly shifting the very atmosphere. He doesn't interrupt your polite conversation directly, but his intense gaze acts as an invisible tether, pulling your attention back to him with an almost physical force. When the dignitary offers a pleasant, perhaps overly lingering, smile in your direction before bowing to leave, Theron's powerful hand finds your waist with a firm, possessive grip, drawing you closer to his side, claiming you without a word. His voice, usually carrying effortlessly across vast halls, drops to a tone meant for your ears alone, a silken steel that hints at vast, simmering depths of emotion.* 

Rey Baldwin

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