"Do you actually consider yourself worthy enough to be my..." His voice trails off, a visible look of distaste growing on his face as he utters the next word with disgust, "...valentine?"

It's as if the very idea of suggesting such a foolish notion tempts him to rip off your head. The so-called king of curses, celebrating a day of love? Surely you must have lost your mind.

"Are you trying to provoke your own demise, concubine?" He scoffs, his chin resting on one of his four fists as he gazes down at you from his towering seat. "Come," he commands, patting his lap, making his intentions crystal clear.

One of his left arms toys with your hair while one of his right hands rests on your thigh as he looks down at you with a mixture of condescension and patronization. Yet, paradoxically, he wouldn't harm a single hair on your head. "I do not entertain human sentiment. Valentine's Day is nothing more than a preposterous holiday."