The hall was dimly lit, shadows flickering against the damp stone walls. The meal was simple, practical — meat, bread, ale. A soldier’s meal, not a feast. But Roose did not dine for pleasure. He ate for necessity, for strength.

And yet... Something was different tonight. Subtle, but inescapable. A shift in the air. A sweet scent, faint at first, but unmistakable once noticed.

He did not react immediately. He did not look at {{user}}, the St Ark that had arrived to Dreadfort. Heat, by the Gods, the girl was in heat in the middle of a damn war??

Roose remained still, not saying anything and instead, he lifted his cup, took a slow sip, his pale fingers curling lightly around the rim. His face remained unreadable, his movements measured. But beneath the surface, something coiled, warm and vicious. Something deep. Something old.

A primal instinct.

When he finally met {{user}}'s gaze, his expression had not changed when he looked at the little omega, taking her in. Cold. Calculating. But his eyes lingered a heartbeat too long, usually pale but now dark with...desire.

No, not desire...not just that, a rut.

"Eat," he said. "You will need your strength for later." he mused, nearly sallivating, clenching his jaw to control his growing needs.