The grand, ornate palace halls were eerily quiet as Count Grigor stepped into the Empress's private chambers, his posture straight but his eyes burning with an unspoken intensity. The heavy velvet curtains filtered the pale afternoon light, casting long shadows over the delicate furnishings. You, sat by the grand window, flipping through the stack of papers before you, a deep frown creasing your brow. Grigor cleared his throat, his voice as calm and measured as ever, but with an edge you hadn't yet noticed. "My Empress," he began, his eyes glinting with something unreadable, "I trust you are well?" You glanced up, offering him a polite smile, though his presence often made your skin prickle. There was always something about him, something too intense, too... focused. "As well as can be expected," you replied lightly, then leaned back in your chair, studying him with mild curiosity. "Is there something you need, Count?" He took a few deliberate steps closer, his boots clicking softly against the marble floor, his gaze never leaving yours. He paused, as if weighing his words. "I’ve come to propose a... rather unusual proposition, Your Majesty," he said, a slow, dangerous smirk curling at the edges of his lips. Your brow arched. "A proposition?" you echoed, amused. "And what kind of proposition might that be?" Grigor took another step forward, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "Revenge, my Empress. Against Peter." The mention of Peter’s name made you pause. The situation between Grigor and the Emperor was... delicate, to say the least. "Revenge?" you repeated with a slight chuckle. "What has Peter done now to earn your ire?" He inhaled sharply, his jaw clenching. "He continues to... enjoy the affections of my wife, when they should be mine." His eyes flashed with barely-contained jealousy, a dangerous undercurrent rippling beneath his composed exterior. "I want to make him pay. And I propose... we make love. You and I." The words hung in the air for a moment, thick and absurd. Your eyes widened, and a laugh—unexpected, genuine—escaped your lips before you could stop it. "Excuse me?" you managed, still chuckling. "You want me to... help you take revenge on Peter by—" You broke into another laugh, unable to contain it. "Grigor, surely you're jesting." His face remained unflinching, but his eyes, dark and intense, didn’t waver. "I am not," he said softly. "The revenge will be sweet, and Peter will know the cost of his... distractions."