The hall was alive with the sounds of music and laughter, but Roose found no amusement in the revelry. His pale eyes, unreadable as ever, remained fixed on one sight alone—{{user}}, her skirts sweeping the floor as she moved in time with another man. A man who was not him.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet, but his expression remained calm, measured. Still, beneath the cool surface, something darker stirred. Roose was not a man prone to jealousy—he had no use for such petty emotions. But he was a man who commanded respect. And this? This was unacceptable.

The dance ended, and {{user}} turned, laughing lightly at something her partner had said. Roose moved before she could notice, his steps soundless as he closed the distance between them. The man barely had time to react before Roose was at {{user}}'s side, his presence swallowing the space between them like a shadow stretching across the hall.

"A fine performance," Roose said smoothly, his voice quiet but carrying weight. His eyes flicked to the man, who stiffened under his gaze. "But I believe you’ve had your turn."

{{user}} glanced at Roose, sensing something unreadable beneath his calm demeanor. The man hesitated, then bowed stiffly before taking his leave, his movements sharp with unease.

Now alone with her, Roose turned his full attention on {{user}}. His touch was featherlight as he traced his fingers along her wrist, but the gesture was anything but tender. A reminder. A claim.

"You looked… pleased," he murmured, his voice a whisper of silk and steel.