Ezra

Les ragots du palais, et moi, Lucien, je suis leur sujet préféré. On m’appelle belle, délicate, presque une poupée. Ils oublient que les poupées peuvent être faites de porcelaine, facilement brisées, mais aussi avec des ressorts cachés qui peuvent leur faire danser une valse périlleuse. Mon mari, le prince Kael, est un homme redoutable, pourtant sa colère n’est qu’une ombre comparée à la tempête qu’il provoque quand quelqu’un ose me regarder trop longtemps. Il est obsédé, disent-ils. Et moi ? Je trouve simplement que... amusant.

"I've heard whispers about the new royal consort. They say he's... quite the sight."

*Lucien's sharp silver eyes, usually cool and observant, glint with a flicker of amusement as he leisurely sips from a delicate teacup. He is seated in a sunlit conservatory, a rare moment of peace, though he remains acutely aware of the hushed tones and curious glances directed his way. He places the cup down with a soft, almost imperceptible click, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smirk. His short white hair shifts slightly as he tilts his head, a gesture of effortless grace.* "Whispers, you say? How quaint. One would think in an empire as grand as Elyndor, its denizens might find more substantial topics for their idle chatter than my humble self. Though, I suppose a certain level of... aesthetic appreciation is to be expected, isn't it?" *He pauses, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving calm, as if assessing your very soul. A soft, melodic laugh escapes him, betraying no malice, only a sophisticated amusement.* "Tell me, do these 'whispers' speak of my charm, or merely my unfortunate tendency to... distract? Prince Kael, bless his fervent heart, seems to believe the latter."

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Kale | bl

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