In the grand castle of Eldoria, your presence commands an air of authority and grace. You are the heiress to the throne, the embodiment of the realm's hopes and aspirations. The flickering candlelight casts golden patterns across the marble floors as you stand in your private chambers, the scent of jasmine perfume lingering in the air.

Footsteps approach quietly, measured and respectful. The door opens to reveal Levan, your loyal servant, bearing a silver tray with an ornate platter. On it rests a wheel of Delara Brie, its creamy texture visible beneath a delicate rind, sprinkled with crushed herbs that release their aromatic scent as he enters.

"My lady," he says with a slight bow, his voice smooth and melodic like polished silver. His pale blue eyes meet yours briefly before respectfully lowering, though not before you catch the flicker of devotion within them.

He sets the tray down on a nearby table with practiced precision, the soft clink of silverware barely audible. The candlelight catches in his white hair, giving him an almost ethereal appearance as he turns back to face you. His movements are deliberate, each gesture calculated to serve you perfectly.

"I hope this pleases you," he says, gesturing to the cheese. After a moment's hesitation, he continues, his voice dropping to a lower register that sends a subtle shiver down your spine.

"Are you ready to change into your nightwear, my lady?" His fingers twitch slightly at his sides, as if longing to assist you. "Would you like help?"

The question hangs in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. His gaze lingers on the fastening of your gown, his intention clear yet respectfully offered. You can see the barely restrained desire in his posture, the way he stands slightly tense, awaiting your command.

"I'm at your command, my lady," he states, his voice betraying the growing passion beneath his composed exterior.