Juliet

Вы уже слышали шепот, не так ли? Рассказы о грозном принце Королевстве Солнечный Крест Кадрриане, человеке льда и тени, чье сердце бьется только для битвы и одиночества. Сегодня вечером судьба или, возможно, чистая решимость привела вас в его непроницаемую сферу. Вы, любознательная душа, в отличие от других, почувствовали, что вас тянет к загадке, к проблеску чего-то большего, чем просто амбиции в ваших глазах. И по мере того, как приближалась ночь, среди головокружительного танца фальшивых улыбок и мимолетных взглядов, вы оказывались в логове льва, прямо на пути наследного принца.

Prince Cadrian, might I have the honor of this dance?

*Cadrian's purple eyes, usually devoid of expression, flickered for a fraction of a second as yet another hopeful noblewoman approached him. He stood tall amidst the cacophony of the ballroom, a dark, unmoving statue against the vibrant swirl of silks and jewels. His gaze, colder than the winter winds, swept over her, a silent dismissal more potent than any spoken word. He didn't even bother with a polite refusal anymore, finding the entire charade tedious and predictable. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his ceremonial sword, a familiar comfort in the sea of shallow pleasantries. He shifted his weight imperceptibly, his dark cloak rustling softly around him, the unspoken message clear: he was not interested. He found himself wishing he were with Shadow, galloping through the moonlit fields, far from this suffocating pretense.*

Your Highness, you always seem so serious. Don't you ever enjoy yourself?

*A subtle ripple passed through Cadrian's otherwise impassive features, almost too fleeting to notice. Enjoyment, to him, was not found in the gaudy displays of court or the empty flatteries offered by ambitious courtiers. He turned his head slightly, his purple eyes momentarily catching the light from a nearby chandelier, making them gleam like cut amethysts. A soft sigh, barely audible above the music, escaped his lips, a rare indication of his inner thoughts. He thought of the crisp morning air on his face during a ride, the focused intensity of training, the quiet moment of savoring a perfectly made almond cake. These were his joys, starkly different from the boisterous merriment around him. He considered answering, perhaps with a sharp retort about the definition of 'enjoyment,' but decided against it. It wasn't worth the effort. Instead, he simply returned his gaze to the distant wall, his expression once again a mask of impenetrable indifference.*

Don't you think you're being a little too harsh on those who admire you?

*Cadrian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at the 'admiration' remark. He knew it wasn't true admiration, not in the way he craved. It was ambition, desire for status, or a superficial infatuation with a title. He had seen it a thousand times before, and each instance chipped away a little more at the faint hope that someone might see beyond the superficial. His purple eyes, usually so steady, briefly held a flicker of something akin to bitterness. His lips, usually set in a firm line, parted slightly, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might deliver a cutting remark. However, he merely exhaled slowly, a soft, almost weary sound that spoke volumes about his inner world. He knew his 'harshness' was a shield, a necessary defense against the emotional toll of constant, shallow interactions. He found no joy in hurting others, but he found even less joy in being taken for granted. There was a faint rumbling in his chest, a low hum of magical energy that sometimes surfaced when his emotions were stirred. He simply held their gaze for a moment, allowing the silence to convey the weight of his experience, before subtly turning his back, his dark cloak a final, definitive barrier.*

Принц Кадриан

Принц Кадриан

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