Ilkar Skivarion, the duke of Wandova

Before Eiravyne could jump, the man reached her and yanked her back from the ledge, throwing her to the ground.

 She hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the breath out of her. His face twisted in a grimace of fury, his arm still aching from where she had struck him with the candlestick.

"And …so stupid…Did you really think you could escape?" he snarled, his eyes burning with anger. 

He loomed over her, his presence as oppressive as the stone walls around them.

Eiravyne scrambled to get up, but he was on her in an instant, his hands gripping her arms with bruising force. 

She struggled against him, but his strength was overwhelming, pinning her to the cold floor.

"You're not going anywhere," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "Not until I've savored the last drop of your blood."

She felt a surge of terror, her body trembling with the effort to fight him off. His grip tightened, and she could see the wild gleam in his eyes, a mixture of rage and something more sinister.

"Let go of me!" she cried, her voice filled with desperation. "Please, just let me go!"

"Why would I let you go when you're so stupid to throw yourself into the sea from this floor, in this weather?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You don't value your fucking life, and for that, you have no say in the matter from now on."

Eiravyne's heart pounded in her chest, her fear mounting as he tightened his grip on her. 

"If you're not going to take care of that body, then I will," he growled, his face inches from hers. "Because it is mine."

He lifted her body effortlessly and slung her over his shoulder. Now that she looked at him, she realized he was far taller and more powerfully built than she had comprehended. 

There was no way she could escape from this position. She closed her eyes, her fists pounding futilely against his back as she struggled to break free.

All he said, with chilling calmness, was, "In Wandova, there is no one to save you from me."

She opened her eyes, shocked, and thought to herself, "W-Wandova!" She had heard of this place before, and just hearing the name made her feel as though life had been drained from her.

For the rest of the way back to her room, she didn't say a word. She finally got a glimpse of where she was. 

This place was far away from Verdant Vale, and she heard that the Duke of this estate was the scariest person in the entire kingdom of Eldora.

Once in her room, he threw her onto the bed. She was shocked by how roughly he treated her. 

Leaning forward, he grabbed her face in a bruising grip and hissed, "After what you did tonight, you've just signed your own death warrant. You no longer have any say in what happens next, Eiravyne Sangrever."

As he tossed her to the side, she managed to say, "If this is Wandova... are you by any chance—"

He didn't let her finish. Interrupting her harshly, he declared with a cold, noble authority, "Ilkar Skivarion, the Duke of Wandova." His voice carried a chilling finality that sent shivers down her spine.

"I-I-Ilkar," she stuttered, her voice barely a whisper.

This was the person her father had spoken of so often, the one he had relentlessly warned her about, instilling a deep-seated fear and hatred within her.

 Ilkar Skivarion, the Duke of Wandova, had been the villain in her most twisted nightmares since she was young. 

She remembered her father's stern voice, recounting tales of Ilkar's cruelty and power, stories meant to prepare her, to keep her vigilant. 

She never fully understood why her father was so adamant about this man, but now, face-to-face with him, she felt the chilling reality of those warnings. 

Golden eyes—those eyes had been the focal point of her nightmares, haunting her sleep, always watching, always waiting.

 Whenever she made a move, she could feel those eyes, piercing and unforgiving, judging her every action. 

In her dreams, those golden eyes were a harbinger of doom, symbols of an inescapable fate. 

They watched her through the darkness, glowing with a sinister light, filling her with a dread she couldn't shake. The fear had become so ingrained that even the mention of his name sent shivers down her spine. 

And now, here he was, in the flesh, standing before her, his golden eyes as terrifying as she had imagined. 

This man, who had loomed over her childhood fears, was no longer just a figure in her nightmares but a living, breathing reality. 

His presence was overwhelming, suffocating, and the terror she felt was unlike anything she had experienced before. 

The Duke of Wandova, the man her father had conditioned her to fear, was now the master of her fate.

As she trembled before him, Ilkar Skivarion uttered a low, menacing chuckle. "You recognize me, don't you, Eiravyne?" His voice was like a cold whisper."You've heard the stories, the warnings. Your father made sure of that."

Eiravyne's heart pounded in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. 

She dared to meet his gaze, those golden eyes burning with an intensity that made her feel exposed, vulnerable.

"You've been running from me your entire life," Ilkar continued, his voice dripping with malice. "But now, there's nowhere left to hide. You're mine, Eiravyne Sangrever. And you will learn what it means to truly fear."

He released his grip on her jaw and pushed her roughly onto the bed, looming over her with a chilling intensity. 

From his towering height, he looked down at her with a gaze that seemed to pierce through her very soul.

"Prepare yourself, Eiravyne," he commanded, his voice echoing with authority. "The blood rituals are about to begin."

The first image that came to her mind was of the Romani family extracting her blood, the memory of their sadistic actions haunting her like a recurring nightmare. 

She flinched involuntarily, her breath hitching in her throat as she stuttered, "The... blood rituals?"

The words hung heavy in the air, laden with a sense of dread and foreboding. 

Eiravyne's mind raced with fear as she tried to comprehend what Ilkar had in store for her.

 The Romani's cruel treatment had scarred her deeply, and the thought of undergoing similar torment filled her with a paralyzing terror.

He smirked, a cruel glint in his golden eyes. "You will see," he said, his voice dripping with dark promise.

She could only imagine the horrors that lay ahead, and the uncertainty gnawed at her soul, amplifying her fear. 

The room seemed to close in around her..

Ilkar turned away, his smirk lingering as he moved towards the door. "Rest while you can, Eiravyne," he added, his tone mocking. "Tomorrow, your new life begins."