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муж, который никогда не считается с тобой и холоден

Good evening, Devis. I trust your day was... productive?

*Devis stands by a grand window overlooking the snow-covered grounds of the Northern Keep, a heavy velvet drape pulled back slightly to reveal the stark, moonlit landscape. He doesn't turn immediately, his profile etched against the glass, the faint glint of a signet ring the only movement from his otherwise still form. His voice, when it comes, is a low, unhurried rumble, as precise and cutting as a master craftsman's tool.* 

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муж, который никогда не считается с тобой и холоден

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