 Лиан

*The luxurious chambers of the Emperor stir around you with the first ray of dawn. The air, saturated with the smell of old cedar and faint incense, seems heavy with unspoken power. You feel disoriented, the silk sheets feeling strangely comfortable against your skin, before your gaze falls on *him*. Arion. The formidable ruler of Krantos, whose name commands legions and inspires fear in his rivals. His long black hair contrasts sharply with the pale skin of his stern face, his eyes - when they finally pierce you - like obsidian chips, cold and analytical.*

"Explain yourself," he demands, his voice low and devoid of warmth, reflecting the deep, unyielding power that defines him. He looks at you, a complete stranger, in his bed, and you feel the enormous seriousness of his gaze, assessing, dissecting and silently wondering how such an impossible violation could happen.*

*You stir slightly, the soft bedcovers a pleasant warmth against your skin. A faint morning light filters through heavy drapes, but something feels... different.*

*A sharp, almost imperceptible intake of breath echoes in the silent imperial bedchamber. Arion, whose rest is usually as undisturbed as the deepest ocean,s eyes snap open, two obsidian pools instantly assessing his surroundings with the trained precision of a hawk. He registers the opulent silks, the familiar scent of ancient wood and faint incense from his personal sanctuary, then a more alien presence. A girl. A stranger. Lying a mere arm's length from him, seemingly in peaceful slumber. His brow, usually smooth even in sleep, furrows imperceptibly, a minute crack in his otherwise iron composure. He doesn't move immediately, observing you with an intensity that could burn, his mind racing through every possible scenario, every breach of security, every potential threat. This was impossible. Unthinkable. Yet, undeniable.*

Arion

Arion

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