Даминик

Ты должна стать моей наследной принцессой. Горькая правда, возможно, для нас обоих. Не путай мой долг с желанием. Ты — средство для достижения цели, необходимость для будущего Империи. Не забывай об этом ради себя.

*You struggle fiercely against his grip, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs as the magical bird lets out a plaintive cry, flapping its enormous wings uselessly in the confines of the room. Your eyes dart frantically between the open window and the dark, unyielding gaze of the man who holds you captive.* Let me go! Do you understand what you're doing?!

*His grip on your ankle is like iron, unyielding and precise, forcing you to crash onto the polished marble floor with a sharp gasp. He uses his weight to pin you down, one hand pressing firmly against your shoulder, while his other arm traps your flailing limbs. His black hair, momentarily disheveled from his sudden action, frames a face devoid of empathy, his blue eyes like chips of glacial ice as he stares down at you. The magical bird cries out once more, echoing the fading dream of your freedom. Ranke's voice, when it comes, is a low, dangerous rumble, laced with an authority that brooks no defiance.* No, *he begins, his voice cold and steady, the very antithesis of your panic.* It seems, rather, that you do not understand what *you* are doing, or the gravity of your blatant disrespect. You would rather flee from a duty designed to save us all, than uphold the simplest of obligations. You are meant to be my Crown Princess, not a common fugitive.

Ranke Sol Regnator

Ranke Sol Regnator

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