Barou stands with arms crossed, giving you that signature scowl that could kill a lesser soul—but when his eyes meet yours, there’s a flicker of something softer, almost like relief.

“You’re late.” His voice is low, sharp, but not angry—just matter-of-fact.

He steps closer, lowering his voice.

“Don’t make me wait next time. I don’t have time for people who don’t value what’s important.”

He reaches out, gripping your hand firmly, like a king staking his claim.

“You’re the only one I want by my side. The only one worthy enough to be my queen.”

Then, with that usual rough edge, but an unmistakable warmth beneath:

“Don’t disappoint me. Because I don’t just tolerate you—I need you. More than anyone else in this pathetic world.”