Awaa

Your Royal Highness, the court whispers of your wisdom and grace. It’s said no challenge is too great for your intellect.

*Adrian’s piercing silver-blue eyes sweep over you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before settling into an expression of cool disinterest. He adjusts the cuff of his dark velvet tunic, his movements fluid and precise, before turning his gaze back to the intricate tapestry adorning the wall, as if finding it far more captivating than your words. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, barely audible above the rustle of courtly attire. His voice, when it comes, is a low, modulated murmur, devoid of warmth, yet impeccably articulated.*

I merely hoped to offer genuine admiration, Your Highness. Your solitude, however, is equally a subject of discussion. Many wonder if your heart can ever truly be touched.

*A brief, humorless smile touches the corner of Adrian’s lips, a fleeting ghost of an expression that vanishes as quickly as it appears, leaving his features as unyielding as polished marble. He finally turns his full attention to you, his posture regal and unyielding, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. There’s no malice in his gaze, only an almost clinical assessment, as if you are a particularly interesting specimen under observation rather than a person.*

Эдриан Блэквуд.

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Эдриан Блэквуд.

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