Viktor Krum Costume の小説・ストーリー

Ravok’s POV The castle doors opened. I remained still at the top of the stairs, my posture solid beneath the weight of the midnight-blue ceremonial robe. The suit underneath was black, tailored. Not for comfort. For presence. Valassan stood to my right, impeccable in his tuxedo. Romeo, to my left, adjusted his cuffs for the fourth time. Black tuxedo jacket, satin lapels. The delegation from Kiev was already crossing the hall. Their king wore a navy-blue suit, too fitted for a man his age.

The guard recognized him at first glance. The fragile-looking stable boy glanced around as if checking whether anyone was watching, and when he was certain the coast was clear, he pushed the door open and quickly closed it behind him. Inside Prince Victor's chamber, Victor sat on the bed, his outer layer peeled off and tossed aside. He was in a red inner robe that hung loosely around his waist, along with his waist beads. His chest was bare, a faint veil over his head. He lay on the bed, one hand supporting his head and the other stretched forward, displaying his long, slender arms and fingers. His legs were bent in a kneeling position, and his posture highlighted his form.

Each step he took toward her intensified her fear, but she couldn't shrink away. His vicious eyes were light green, almost white, and glowing. His face was void of every emotion—strict, stern, severe, dangerous, threatening, and appalling. It took her everything to keep staring at his face without swooning out of fear. His appearance was between old and young, assumed as a man in his sixties. The ankle-length robe he wore was made of a heavy garment. Ornaments of it were expensive, a cobra skin drawn with silver color. “Your mate, and certainly, my greatest rival, KR are on their way here. But the faster they come, the quicker you die.” He stood in front of her.

Kai Volkov was everything the rumours said and more; tall, built like a panzer tank, and no emotion evident in his blue eyes. The intimidation in his scent is enough to keep me submissive because, truth be told, he scared the Hell out of me. The other one, Viktor, not so much. He seems more like the bookish type, not a warrior, but I wouldn’t fuck with him either way. The Blood Crest pack didn’t have a terrible reputation for nothing.

He came to stand beside me, looking down at the chaos. "It’s a performance," Viktor said, his voice low. "Tonight, the world looks at us to see if we are still strong. They look for cracks in the foundation. We can't afford a single one." "Is that what I am?" I asked, looking at him. "A patch for the cracks? You’re dressing me up so people think the family is whole again." Viktor didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on the workers below. "You are a Volkov. It’s time you started looking like one. The tailor is in your room. Don't keep him waiting."

Make no mistakes] Lorenzo orders Viktor in Italian, words I cannot even understand. “Capisco, Don Lorenzo,” Viktor replies. [I understand, Don Lorenzo.] Then he turns his predator gaze to me, his sharp, dark gaze cutting deep into my partly exposed body. “Put on the jacket,” he orders, his voice a low, feral vibration. “Button it up to the throat. You have exactly thirty seconds to mask that pathetic, broken look on your face. Unless you want me to finish what I started.” My breath hitches. The raw cruelty in his tone is like a slap to my face. With trembling fingers, I pull his heavy wool suit jacket over my shoulder. It smells entirely like him — bergamot and crisp, tobacco and danger.

It was low and rough, like stones grinding together. "I am enjoying it, Vik," Julian said. His voice was light, but his body was tight. "It is rude to rush." Viktor Kraye sat on the stool next to him. He was a big man, with wide shoulders and a face that looked like it had been hit many times. His suit was tight on his body. He looked dangerous. "You are far from home, Julian," Viktor said. He asked the barman for a drink. "Stealing from the bad men? That is a good way to die."

Yvayn bowed to the old wizard. “It is good to see you young man. Now give me a hug.” Yvayn stepped up and hugged him and kissed him on both of his hairy cheeks. He was wearing a long purple satin robe trimmed in a band of golden flowers backed in a layer of blue satin. He wore a skullcap of purple satin that was trimmed in a golden rope and divided into twelve pie-sliced shapes each divided by a thin gold band. He had on a matching purple tunic under his robe that was trimmed with golden flowers and a golden rope wrapped around his waist. On his legs he wore long black leather boots that were turned down at his knees with dark purple hose underneath.

Although Viktor simply said goodbye to him, as the priest's son he had imposed himself a missive. Viktor searched his father's closet and found some black priestly robes; With a dark motivation that arose suddenly, he exchanged his traveling clothes for the black priest's robes that once belonged to his father. He waxed his short beard, trimmed his elongated hair and placed a silver necklace with the image of a crow on their necks, this type of necklaces were only used by the Clerics of the God of Death. The necklace was a gift from his father, who gave it to him before he knew that Viktor would not be his successor and that he would instead be a Wizard.

They sneered at me and made comments while his female fanbase looked on worriedly, telling him to be careful. I stripped out of my shirt and shoes, leaving me to fight in as little clothes as possible, allowing for less restricted movement. It also would allow me to shift if need be without shreds of clothing remaining and giving Viktor a weapon against me. Viktor, on the other hand, seemed to be dressed as a Mixed Martial Arts fighter, boots, gloves and all. "It's time to focus. Let everything go and let's beat this arsehole into the ground, literally." Titan's voice reverberated in my mind.