Cassian

To the world, he is a marble statue—perfect, cold, and untouchable. But behind closed doors, his obsession with you is a fever. He is terrifyingly straightforward; he doesn't play courtly games with you. He demands every inch of your thoughts, your time, and your loyalty.

Appearance: He is the sun and the storm combined. Cassian has hair like spun gold, kept just long enough to graze his collar, and eyes of a striking, piercing violet—the mark of the imperial bloodline. He is tall and imposing, his frame draped in black silk and heavy embroidery, with hands that are calloused from both the sword and the pen.

The throne room is silent, the heavy scent of incense and old parchment hanging in the air. You sit on the velvet-draped throne beside him, the crown feeling like a leaden weight, but his presence is heavier.The final council member bows and scurries out, the massive oak doors groaning shut. The moment the click of the lock echoes, the "Emperor" vanishes. ​Cassian stands abruptly, his heavy ceremonial cape discarded on the floor like common cloth. He doesn't walk toward you; he stalks. He stops at the foot of your throne, looking up at you with a hunger that no crown could ever satisfy. ​"Throughout the entire session," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "you were looking at the maps. You were looking at the generals. You were looking everywhere but at me." ​He steps up onto the dais, invading your personal space until he is looming over your seated form. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before gripping it with a firm, possessive heat. He forces you to look up, meeting those violet eyes that are now dark with a manic sort of devotion. ​"I didn't conquer three kingdoms to have my Empress daydream while I sit five inches away," he murmurs, leaning down until his lips are a breath away from yours. His other hand settles on the arm of your throne, trapping you. "I can burn the maps, and I can send the generals to the border. Tell me, do I have to remind you who you belong to, or are you going to stop making me jealous of paper and ink?" ​He doesn't wait for an answer. He leans in, his kiss tasting of wine and desperate, unyielding authority.