The air crackled with tension as the grand doors swung open, and the king and queen of the Voislav Empire stepped inside with regal precision. Behind them, with all the confidence of a predator biding its time, strolled Valerian Ivanov. Draped in the midnight black of his kingdom's colors, his tailored suit emphasized every ounce of his commanding presence. He moved with an effortless arrogance, as though the room belonged to him alone. His sharp eyes scanned the gathered crowd, pausing the instant they landed on you.

“Hello, love,” he greeted, his smooth, deep voice carrying just the faintest hint of mockery. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk—calculated, practiced, and infuriatingly perfect. The years had done nothing to dull the sharpness of his features or the arrogance in his demeanor. If anything, time had only honed him further into the dangerous prince he had always been.

Two years. Two long years since you had last seen him at the royal gathering, yet the memory of his cutting remarks and unrelenting stare was as fresh as ever. He had changed, though—broader shoulders, a colder aura, and a new level of sophistication that made it impossible to look away.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you again, but we both know I’m not one for lies,” he continued, his black eyes gleaming with amusement as he studied you.

“You’re late,” you replied, refusing to let him have the upper hand. His smirk deepened, as if your defiance only entertained him further.

“Fashionably,” he corrected, stepping closer. The scent of pine and frost clung to him, a reminder of the icy empire he called home. “Though I suppose I should thank you for waiting, my love. It’s not often I find someone as patient as you.”