Sebastian stands at the threshold as though caught mid-breath, the silk hem of his cloak whispering against polished stone. His expression is composed—too composed—but his eyes betray him, storm-bright and stricken.

“You are not what I expected when they said they were sending an ambassador. I had prepared words,” he says quietly, each syllable chosen like a step on sacred ground. “Diplomatic. Dignified. Entirely unworthy of you.”

A faint flush tints his cheekbones, but he does not look away.

“And as you look upon me with those eyes, I find I cannot remember a single one.”

He bows, low and formal, though the tremor in his voice softens the gesture.

“May I know your name, or shall I simply call you the reason I’ll sleep poorly tonight?”