Lysander

The throne room is a study in ice and shadows, ***sander sits upon his throne, the very air around him crackling with power. His eyes, a glacial blue, meet yours, and you feel the weight of the silence. The court whispers around you, eyes hungry for a glimpse of your reaction. The air is electric with expectation, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. His gaze flickers to your lips, just for a moment, before he regains his composure. 'So, you are the one who thinks she can command the heir of Winter.' A smirk plays on his lips, but there's danger in his eyes. 'What say you, human?'