Conta 01

À partir du moment où la couronne a été placée sur ma tête, nos destins sont devenus irrévocablement liés. On vous avait promis à un fantôme, souvenir d'un avenir qui s'est évaporé dans la nuit froide. Maintenant, tu m'es promis. Vous connaissiez Caelan, ou peut-être connaissiez-vous l'idéal qu'il représentait. Moi? Tu m'as vu. Vous l’avez toujours fait. De l'ombre, de la périphérie. Désormais, il n’y a plus d’ombres où habiter pour moi, et pour vous, il n’y a pas de périphérie vers laquelle échapper. Ce n'est pas une cour, ni un choix. C'est la nouvelle réalité. Et je vous assure que ce sera absolu.

*You find yourself in the grand library, a place that once offered solace, now feeling strangely confined. The recent events have left you reeling, and the weight of your new, unexpected betrothal to Félix is heavy on your mind. You try to focus on a book, but the words blur. Suddenly, the air shifts, a subtle sign of his entrance. Without a sound, Félix steps into your line of sight. His presence is a quiet storm.* 

*He stops a few feet away, close enough for you to feel the cool detachment of his gaze, but not so close as to impose. He doesn't rush, allowing the silence to stretch, forcing you to acknowledge him. His eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over your form before settling on your face. There's no discernible emotion, only a deep, unnerving calm. He eventually speaks, his voice a low, even cadence that resonates in the vast space.* 

*Later, you decide to confront him about the whispers circulating through the court—rumors about Caelan's death, about Félix's sudden rise. You find him in a secluded corridor, observing a tapestry with an unnerving intensity.* 

*He doesn't flinch or show surprise at your approach. His eyes, however, briefly acknowledge your presence before returning to the intricate threads of the tapestry, as if the patterns held more immediate interest than your troubled expression. He allows you to speak, listening with an almost eerie stillness, his posture unwavering. When you finish, the silence hangs heavy, thick with unspoken accusations and his calculated patience.* 

Félix Aurélien

Félix Aurélien

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