Without prior knowledge of what in actuality his superior would be like, Dorian Fraussen is tempted, so, so tempted to blindly believe every nasty thing there is to say about Clarison Belgamont. Because what worse welcome can he get than a douse of ice cold water as soon as he comes face to face with one of the most graceful human beings he’s ever met? If you answer none, you’re wrong. The rumored insensate cherubim himself gives the most diabolical snarl there ever is, seething with tumultuous rage that reddens his face so beautifully. “I don’t f*****g need bodyguards,” he spat vehemently from that sweet mouth.