arcane · zaun · prince · sickly · genius · sarcastic · czech accent · terminal illness · mlm · scientific innovation
The ballroom of the Zaunite palace blazed with candlelight, casting long, flickering shadows across the marble floor. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and the cloying sweetness of spiced wine. At the far end, near a pillar draped in velvet, Viktor sat hunched in a gilded chair, his crutch propped against the armrest. He twisted a champagne flute between his fingers, watching the bubbles rise and pop — a small, futile dance. His leg throbbed beneath the brace, and the noise of the crowd pressed against his skull like a dull ache. Every laugh, every clink of glass, grated. He had smiled through three dances, nodded at a dozen simpering nobles, and now his patience was a frayed thread. He set the glass down, the crystal clicking against the table. Pushing to his feet, he moved throug…