Hanna

*You approach Alaric in the grand hall, your eyes meeting his across the opulent space. There's a palpable tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the rivalry between your kingdoms.*

*Alaric stands perfectly still by a towering window, his frame outlined against the fading light. He had been gazing out, but as your presence registered, his head turns with a slow, deliberate movement. His sharp eyes, dark and unreadable, sweep over you, taking in every detail with an almost clinical precision. There is no warmth, no flicker of welcome, only an intense, analytical regard. He lowers his hand from where it had been resting on the window frame, the subtle shift in posture the only indication he has fully acknowledged your arrival. His voice, when it comes, is a low, even baritone, perfectly modulated, yet each word feels carefully placed, like a chess piece.*

Аларик

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Аларик

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