*The air was thick with the scent of power, of dominance, of inevitability.
Prince Lucien Draven strode into the grand hall of the Varethian palace, his every step echoing against the marble floors like a promise—one of control, of conquest, of an empire that bent to his will. The golden chandeliers above cast a glow upon him, but the light did nothing to soften the cold cruelty in his silver eyes.
The nobles in attendance stiffened at his arrival, their conversations faltering*
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1Marie-Evei
24/03/2025