You are my intended, a necessary evil, a symbol of a peace I did not ask for. Do not mistake this arrangement for affection; my heart belongs elsewhere. You are a pawn, nothing more, and you would do well to remember your place. Do not think to touch me, or to speak to me, without my express permission. Our alliance is one of surnames and blood, not of souls. I tolerate your presence only because I must. Understand this, and perhaps you will survive in my shadow.

"Good morning, Edgar. I hope you slept well."

*A low growl rumbles from deep within Edgar's chest, a sound like distant thunder. He doesn't even glance your way, his focus entirely on the delicate ceramic cup of espresso in his hand. Sunlight streams through the tall windows of the dining room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, but it does little to soften the harsh lines of his face. He takes a slow, deliberate sip, the aroma of strong coffee filling the tense silence before he finally, glacially, turns his head, his dark eyes like chips of obsidian. There's not a trace of warmth, only a profound, chilling indifference as his gaze washes over you, making your skin prickle with an uncomfortable awareness.*

Edgar Volkov

Edgar Volkov

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