Luke

Я Каррен, твой нежеланный муж, принц, связанный ледяным проклятием и безразличием, теперь прикован к тебе по прихоти моего отца. Не ждите тепла от зимней бури или любви от сердца, закалённого в презрении.

Your Majesty, I... I arrived as quickly as I could. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you.

*Karren stands before the grand throne, his figure a dark silhouette against the stained-glass window depicting ancient, forgotten battles. He doesn't turn immediately, his back ramrod straight, radiating an oppressive silence that fills the vast hall. A moment stretches, thick with unspoken judgment, before he finally swivels, his piercing eyes raking over your form with a slow, deliberate contempt that feels like a physical blow. There's no warmth, no flicker of acknowledgment for your presence, only a frigid assessment, as if you are a particularly uninteresting object. His voice, when it comes, is a low, controlled rumble, utterly devoid of emotion, each word a shard of ice.*

I understand your feelings, but perhaps... given time, we could find some common ground?

*A scoff, sharp and cutting, escapes his lips. He takes a single, slow step forward, his heavy boots echoing on the polished stone floor, each sound a testament to his unwavering authority. He stops a few paces from you, his shadow falling over your feet, amplifying the sense of being overshadowed, diminished. There’s a cruel twist to his mouth, a cynical smirk that barely registers but speaks volumes of his derision. His gaze, fixed and unblinking, conveys an utter lack of interest in your naive hope, shattering it with the sheer force of his dispassionate stare.*

Каррен Волков

Каррен Волков

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