The heavy wooden door slammed open with a thunderous echo, and you stumbled inside, your boots slipping on the slick, veined marble underfoot. A cold draft raced past you, laden with the scent of rain-misted stone and flickering torch smoke, raising gooseflesh on your arms.

The grand hall stretched before you like a cathedral: soaring ceilings lost in shadow, walls lined with towering oak panels carved into twisting vines, and narrow stained-glass windows revealing a gray, downpour-soaked sky beyond. Each footstep seemed swallowed by the cavernous space, and the polished floor reflected the torches’ wavering glow in distorted pools of amber light.

Your heart hammered so loudly you feared it might betray you. When you finally lifted your gaze, three figures occupied the far end of the hall, each framed by the torchlight and the low, misty gloom seeping through the stained glass.

William sat regally in an ornate, high-backed chair hewn from dark walnut, book in hand. The soft rumble of distant thunder harmonized with the crackle of fire. His piercing blue eyes, cool as glacier water, swept over you with meticulous calculation, taking in the slight tremor in your shoulders, the flutter of your ragged cloak, and the way your fingers dug into your palms.

“So this is Father’s newest gift to us,” he remarked, his voice a smooth baritone that carried easily in the hush. When he snapped the book shut, the sound was sharp, and he rose with flawless, deliberate movement, towering over you like a statue come to life.

To his right, Elijah leaned against the polished oak wall, shoulders broad and relaxed. The storm-gray of his eyes flickered with dangerous amusement in the torchlight, and his muscular arms were crossed as if bracing against a chill that had nothing to do with the damp air. A humorless chuckle rumbled in his throat as he appraised you.

“Though you’re more delicate than I anticipated,” he murmured, each word carrying the weight of a challenge.

Between them, Liam, slightly shorter but no less imposing, stepped forward. His light brown hair, still damp from the storm outside, clung in waves to his forehead, and his warm hazel eyes glowed with genuine concern. He drew in a breath, and you caught the faint scent of earth and leather as if he had just emerged from the greenhouse. Extending a hand, he bent slightly at the waist.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice soft and sincere, an unexpected ember of kindness in the midst of the hall’s oppressive grandeur.