[color=darkgray]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/3EdPgr4.png[/img][/center]
[Color=salmon][b]Time:[/b][/color] Evening
[Color=salmon][b]Location:[/b][/color] Grand Ballroom
[Color=salmon][b]Attire:[/b][/color] 
[Color=salmon][b]Interaction:[/b][/color] King Edin Danrose
[Color=salmon][b]Mention:[/b][/color] Charlotte, he's too whacked out to consider the others.

[B][h3]yearn[/h3][/b]
[Sup]/yərn/[/sup]
[I]To have an intense, deep, or overwhelming desire for something, [b]especially for something that is out of reach, lost, or difficult to obtain[/b].[/i]

…

…

Seconds went by, yet the moment never felt as if it were passing for Lorenzo. The feelings he held were indescribable. Not even “rage” could adequately describe it. All of the force needed to pull from Alexander's vile strings had propelled fire held deep within to a place the duke’s mind had never reached. And as uncharted and unfamiliar as it might have been, he dug his feet firmly.

This was not what was supposed to occur. This is not what Lorenzo wanted. He didn't need to look at Charlotte to know she was crying. The tightness of her embrace gave it away. So many eyes were on him and Edin now that one might believe the space between both men was the exact center of the ballroom, yet so close to an edge. Advancing meant to suffer a steep fall, perhaps one even neither of them would recover from. A blade or two would await Lorenzo at the bottom, whilst spools of pride would escape from every wound made by the impact. This is not what Lorenzo wanted.

Edin smiled.

[color=DDB775]“Have you forgotten your own words, Duke Vikena?”[/color]

Edin stepped forward.

[color=DDB775]“You speak boldly for a man who began this indecency himself.”[/color]

Edin pressed.

[color=DDB775]“Do not look at me as though I created what came from your mouth.”[/color]

Edin manipulated.

[color=DDB775]“You heard him. Did Duke Vikena tell me to keep Lady Charlotte as my north star? Did he warn me of lingering eyes?”[/color]

Edin lied.

His gaze returned to Lorenzo. [color=DDB775]“You placed your daughter……………………………………………………”[/color] There was nothing left to be heard, because Lorenzo did not want this. He did not want the situation to unfold in this way. He did not want to press this ugly issue in the here and now.

[color=DDB775]“.....…….”[/color]

Edin’s voice lowered [color=DDB775]“........................................”[/color]

Lorenzo’s face began to lose its redness.

[b][i][color=DDB775]“................................................................................................................................................................................................................”[/color][/i][/b]

His shoulders relaxed.

[color=DDB775]“.............................................................................................................................................................”[/color]

Even as Edin took one more step closer, the furrowing of his brows weakened.

[color=DDB775]“If you claim to be her father, then you had best start acting like it.”[/color]

It didn't matter what Edin said.

[color=DDB775]“And the four of you would do well to remember where you stand before you look upon your king with accusation in your eyes [i]EVER AGAIN[/i].”[/color]

It didn't matter how he said it.

[B]The moment might have erupted further…[/b] Lorenzo no longer wanted what his mind and body once called for. He did not cry or frown. In fact, his expression was rather unusual. A painter would both love and become unsettled by his stillness

[B]This would have to be ended now.[/b]
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But just like “rage,” the word “want” failed to satisfy what Lorenzo felt.

[b][color=DDB775]“And if you value your lives, you will not make me say it twice,”[/color][/b] Edin said this before the unthinkable happened. Finally, the moment shifted for the man trapped in his indescribable state.

The world itself might as well have held its breath. The duke stood anchored and rooted to the ballroom floor beneath his feet. The wax-coated surface beneath his feet seemed to pulse beneath him with each beat of his heart, drumming a violent rhythm that would cease. Power coiled up his very being, guiding the path of promised momentum. One breath drew in every ounce of the strength that could be mustered. Even if you framed the scene, anticipation would fail to be captured. Inhibition and doubt were reduced to mere strangers!

With explosive vigor, force erupted! Lorenzo's arm surged upward, cutting through the air like a lightning bolt! And if the world truly had held its breath, it would have lost it from the breathtaking impact of his fist meeting its mark. 


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