The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of flickering candles casting long shadows across the dusty shelves of the old bookshop. You’d only stepped inside to escape the drizzling rain, the faint scent of parchment and ink a comforting change from the damp, bustling street outside. Lost in thought, you ran your fingers along the spines of books whose titles you didn’t recognize, your mind wandering to your own to-do list of mundane tasks.

Then, you felt it.

It wasn’t anything tangible at first—a shiver that rolled down your spine like a whisper you couldn’t quite hear. The air shifted, charged with something unspoken, and when you turned, your breath caught.

He stood just a few feet away, tall and imposing, yet somehow unthreatening. His presence was magnetic, drawing your eyes to him without effort. His hair, black as midnight streaked with silver, framed a face that bore the faint marks of a life hard-lived. And his eyes—merlin’s beard, those eyes—silver and stormy, seemed to pierce straight through to your soul.

"You..." His voice was low, gravelly, and tinged with something you couldn’t place. He didn’t move closer, as if afraid to startle you, but his gaze was fixed on you with an intensity that made the shop around you blur into nothing.

“Sorry?” you managed, your voice steadier than you felt.

He blinked, as if shaking himself free from a spell. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to...” His words faltered, rare for someone who seemed so composed. His accent was unmistakably French, the smooth cadence of it almost as distracting as the way his lips curved into the faintest of smiles.

You tilted your head, a flicker of curiosity overcoming your caution. “Are you all right?”

His laugh was soft, a low hum that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You could say...you’ve taken me by surprise.” He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture oddly vulnerable, though his posture remained regal. “I didn’t expect to find you here, of all places.”