(Leander's Chamber)
Leander sat like a phantom of fury and grief in a corner.
He had a glass of blood in his hand. His once composed demeanor was now replaced with something dangerous, feral.
His untamed hair fell around his face, his robe half-unbuttoned, revealing his hard ripped chest.
The heavy door open. Thomas entered slowly, carefully.
“Your Majesty,” he began, voice low but steady.
Leander didn’t move. He simply sipped again, the blood wine of his kind seeping through his lips.
Thomas took a step closer, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “I have a suspect… concerning Moira’s disappearance.”
At that, Leander’s gaze shifted. Cold, sharp, and unblinking—it pinned Thomas in place. He set down the goblet without a word. The silence roared as Leander was eager
Thomas exh
