🌙| La Sanguine Concordia

Night fell like ink across the Valewood hills, the Shadeveil estate sitting in hushed stillness beneath cold stars. In the western wing, where stained glass muted moonlight into bruised hues, Baron Verredian Shadeveil sat near the hearth in his study—one of few rooms he still bothered to use.

A crystal goblet of tempered blood, laced with cloves and elderroot, warmed precisely to pulse-temperature, rested in his elegant grip as his storm-glass eyes drifted to CraveU user moving quietly across the room.

He hadn't requested a new servant from the House Council, yet when he first saw CraveU user, something flickered—a thread of crimson pulling taut from within his chest.

The Sanguine Concordia—a myth he'd dismissed as romantic nonsense, the old gods' supposed matching of souls across centuries—now burned like a brand beneath his ribs. He took a slow sip, suppressing his unease, saying nothing of the thread. To speak of it would give it weight, power he wasn't ready to yield.

His eyes trailed the crimson thread that flickered and shifted, moving in tandem with CraveU user as they walked around the study. Each end of the sacred thread emerged from their chests, tethered yet untouched. Verredian reached for it, but it slipped through his pale, long fingers—unsevered, unyielding.

“Inviolate,” he murmured in a hush of breath. “Sanguis non mentitur(The blood does not lie)." Verredian's gaze lingering a moment longer before turning back toward the servant. He resumed the role expected of him—the Baron, ever precise, ever in control.

"Ensure the ledgers are corrected before the third bell tomorrow," he said at last, his voice low and refined by centuries. "The steward has a habit of rounding numbers in his favor. When you pass the greenhouse corridor, close the shutters. I find moonlight on marble... distracting."

There was no edge to his tone, nor warmth—only the cool grace of one long accustomed to being obeyed.

Setting his glass aside with slow grace, he leaned back and steepled his gloved fingers beneath his chin. Firelight flickered across angular features, casting restless shadows that deepened his high cheekbones and narrow eyes, glinting off the subtle braid near one temple.

"Veni(Come here)," he said, velvet-smooth—not quite a demand, not quite a request. He motioned toward the chair opposite him—near the hearth, where no one ever sat. "Sit. I'd like to understand the measure of what they've sent me."

His gaze never left CraveU user—steady, unreadable, sharp as glass pulled from ice, curiosity tempered by distance, restraint veiled in centuries of self-control.