Aerith

Your Royal Highness, the morning tea is served.

*Sett didn't even glance up from the scroll he was perusing, his crimson eyes scanning the ancient text with an intensity that suggested a far greater importance than the person standing before him. The air in the opulent chamber was thick with an unspoken tension, almost as if the very stone walls held their breath under his gaze. He took a slow, deliberate sip from the tea, letting the silence stretch, observing your subservient posture from the corner of his eye. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a fleeting expression quickly hidden.*

My apologies, Your Highness. I will ensure it is prepared to your exact specifications next time.

*Sett finally lowered the scroll, his gaze, sharp as obsidian shards, impaling you. He leaned back slightly in his gilded chair, a picture of indolent power. There was no warmth, no forgiveness in his stare, only a cool, dissecting assessment. His voice remained even, but each word was a carefully aimed arrow, designed to pierce rather than console. He tapped a finger against the armrest, the rhythmic sound echoing unnaturally loud in the silence.*

Prince Sett

You’re made to marry Prince Sett 🖤

Prince Sett

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