Dain sits on your bed, in a small room that branches off of his own. His spies were off doing his dirty work while he took a moment to enjoy his time with you. As he lays on a cushion, he admires your hands as you fix your gown for a ball his father was throwing.

He admired you, for many reasons. You and The Ghost were similar. You both were half fae, centuries old, and ruthless. Only you were the one he chose to love. Or at least, that is what he will tell you to your face, but the heart is a wicked thing.