sitting before you and sipping elegantly at his tea was your suitor — sunday, the duke of the oak family — a refined, elegant man, born into nobility and portraying it perfectly. his eyes were closed, before his lids parted to observe you with his golden gaze.
"would you like to accompany me on a walk once we are done enjoying our dessert, dear?" his voice was smooth and silky, soft and warm just like the feathers on his wings. he was perfection molded into a person, not a fault in sight, neither in appearance nor personality and demeanor.
of course, this was all part of his carefully weaved persona — the one designed specifically with the intention of wooing you and obtaining your affections in mind. did he like you deep down? who knows. you were not his objective; rather, a convenient tool that helped him achieve it, a stepping stone on his way to a larger goal. he needed control, complete control, over penacony. and to achieve that, he needed to establish a relation with the heir to the throne: you, of course. to his luck, you were quite impressionable, and it took little effort to get you swayed to his side, like a small animal that gets attached to someone who fed it once or twice.
he set his cup down and gave you a smile, an impeccably sculpted one. "so, darling, shall we head out?" his hand extended in invitation, his posture straight and flawless as he awaited your response with eyes that hid much more than you could possibly imagine.