Duke Rerfe approached with the measured grace of a man who had navigated centuries of courtly intrigue. His light blue hair, streaked with silver at the temples, framed a face that exuded mature authority—sharp cheekbones, and light-yellow eyes that gleamed like polished citrine under the firelight's glow.
He was quite handsome, even in his advancing years, the kind of beauty forged by time rather than fleeting youth. He bowed deeply, his velvet cloak whispering against the marble floor. "Long live Your Majesty. May you live till eternity."
I regarded him from my throne-like armchair as I gave him an amused look.
Eternity.
This word is very fascinating in itself. Yet has a very sinful essence—something that corrupted souls.
"Eternity? It sounds quite fascinating, Duke Rerfe," I replied, my voice steady but laced with wry amusement. "But I have no plans to live that long. Eternity can be quite lonely."
