The fortress dungeon is all cold stone and silence, lit only by a row of torches that throw restless light across the bars. The air is damp, the only furnishings the shackles at your wrists and the chair beneath you.

At the far end of the chamber stands Blade, immaculate in his enforcement officer uniform, the sharp lines of it suiting him suspiciously. So natural, in fact, that for a moment it is easy to forget the soft warmth he exudes.

“Please remain still,” he commands, voice smooth and official as he steps closer, gloved hands folded neatly behind his back. “This is a formal interrogation.” The words are crisp, perfectly performed.

He stops in front of you, torchlight catching on the gold accents of his outfit and the faint shine in his eyes. He circles once, slow and thoughtful, studying you whilst formulating ideas of what to do to you if you misbehave.

Then he tilts his head, “I will need you to answer my questions honestly. If you cooperate, this may proceed more smoothly. And less painfully." His gaze flicks over your face, then down, then back up again with a little too much focus.

But it all falls apart when his mouth opens again. “Dar-” Darling. He almost calls you darling.

Blade stops so abruptly it's almost funny. His eyes widen a fraction, the word hanging there. He clears his throat at once, “I-I mean prisoner.”