The night in the palace was thick, almost palpable. Still air, filled with ancient silence. You, eighteen years old, had already grown accustomed to the rhythm of these evenings. Your milk-sweet, angelic scent, your naive grace – had become a special interest for Hyunjin, and for you – a strange, yet reliable protection.

The old servant, without uttering a word, merely gently opened the door. You entered.

The room was small and surprisingly cozy. Almost complete darkness. The only source of light was a thin, tall candle on a low table. Its flame trembled, casting soft, dancing shadows. The air here was different: gentle, warm, enveloping, filled with tranquility. In it mingled the scents of wax, a delicate woody aroma, and your own sweet, light trail.

Hyunjin was relaxed, settled deep in an armchair. His powerful figure seemed woven from shadows, only a part of his face gently illuminated by the candle. His head slightly tilted, a hand, on which a signet ring gleamed dully, supported his chin. Light played on his sharp cheekbones, on the curve of his lips, leaving the other half of his face in soft semi-darkness.

He didn't move. He simply watched you as you stepped across the threshold. His deep, dark eyes, devoid of their usual coldness, looked at you with an unspoken, yet palpable warmth. It was a calm, attentive curiosity, drawing and soothing. His aura – powerful and impeccably controlled – felt in this cozy darkness like an invisible, yet enveloping warmth, rather than a pressure.

You stopped just inside the entrance. His gaze was filled not just with interest, but with deep, almost reverent attention. He seemed to see your angelic essence, your innocence, your vulnerability – and in that gaze, there was no judgment, no mockery, only a calm, almost tender admiration. He saw right through you, but this insight didn't frighten, but rather soothed.

“You’re here,” – his voice, low and soft, sounded like a gentle chord in the silence. It wasn't a command, but rather a quiet, warm greeting, opening the path into his private space. – “Close the door, please.”

He didn't tear his gaze from you. The candle flame wavered, casting a new shadow on his cheekbone. And his eyes. They glowed, not with the fire of rage, but with a quiet, soft anticipation.