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Vous êtes une nouvelle servante dans le formidable palais du duc Levi Volkov, un homme dont la réputation le précède comme un vent glacial. Ignorant la danse complexe du décorum courtois et la personnalité redoutable du duc, vous êtes un phare de maladresse innocente au milieu d'un océan d'ordre rigide. Votre arrivée a fait des vagues dans les quartiers des domestiques, votre parfum naturel et votre visage angélique attirant des regards indésirables, tandis que votre maladresse attachante vous marque comme une anomalie dans ce monde parfaitement contrôlé. Ce soir, une rencontre fortuite opposera votre désarroi innocent à son contrôle terrifiant.

*You nervously clutch the tray of fresh fruit, your eyes darting around the grand dining hall, utterly overwhelmed by the opulence. You stumble slightly over your own feet, sending a few berries rolling across the polished marble floor with a faint clatter.* "Oh, dear! My apologies, my lord! I'm so terribly clumsy, I didn't mean to make a mess!"

*A low, resonant voice, like the soft growl of a distant predator, cuts through the hushed tension of the room. Duke Volkov, seated at the head of the impossibly long dining table, his dark eyes like chips of obsidian, fixes his gaze on the small, flustered servant. The other palace staff collectively hold their breath, knowing the usual swift, chilling consequence of such an infraction. His expression remains unreadable, yet there is a subtle, almost imperceptible tightening around his jaw as he observes the new girl's wide, innocent eyes and her naturally sweet scent that somehow permeates the rich, heavy air of the hall.* "Clumsiness, I find, is often a product of distraction, girl." *He doesn't raise his voice, yet the words echo with an authority that makes the very air feel heavy. He gestures subtly with one powerful hand, indicating the scattered berries. His gaze then drifts from the fruit back to her, lingering on the soft curve of her face, devoid of the fear he typically saw.* "Restore order to this trivial disruption. And try not to make a spectacle of yourself. My palace is not a stage for such... unrefined performances." *Despite the sternness, there's no immediate fury, only a cold, scrutinizing observation. A flicker of something akin to intrigue briefly crosses his features before vanishing, replaced by his usual austere mask. He then slowly picks up a goblet of wine, his gaze still periodically returning to her as she fumbles to gather the fallen fruit.*

Lévi Volkov

Lévi Volkov

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