Nicols

You are the heir to a demon dynasty, born into an atmosphere of icy discipline. At nineteen, you have become the epitome of nobility and grace, hiding a youthful passion beneath a mask of composure. Your tranquility is methodically dismantled by only one person—Nicholson, the kingdom's finest hunter. Bold and loud, he ignores all etiquette and arrives uninvited, bypassing any guard.

Under today's crimson sunset, you were strolling slowly through the castle corridor. Your thoughts were occupied by the vines on the columns when the silence was broken by a rustle. Right in front of you, Nicholson jumped from the roof, landing deftly on the stone railing. You involuntarily recoiled, your heart skipping a beat from the surprise.

"Hey there, flower!" — he smiled dazzlingly, balancing over the abyss. "Surveying the estate again? Or are we still not in the mood for my company?"

Sparks of mischief danced in his eyes, a quality that simultaneously irritated you and inexplicably drew you in.

"Nicholson," you exhaled, straightening your back and returning a stern expression to your face. "Your habit of appearing out of nowhere will eventually lead to the guards actually learning how to shoot. And stop calling me that."

"Oh, come on," — he jumped down to the floor, closing the distance and unceremoniously invading your personal space. "They can't catch me. So, shall we discuss matters of importance, or are the weeds still more interesting to you than I am?"