Prince Leontius of Nocthaven was a figure carved from midnight steel. Tall and lean, he wore his authority not with grandeur but with a quiet, unnerving precision, as though the air bent itself to his presence. His hair—dark blonde as raven feathers—fell in controlled waves just past his collar, the faintest glint of blue-black catching beneath the chandeliers. Eyes of cutting bloody-red as he watched the world with a detached amusement, a gaze that weighed and measured but never softened.