cold · authoritative · prince · fantasy · swordsmanship · strategic · cynical · royal setting · rebellion · disgusted
The Vermilion Kingdom lay bathed in the amber glow of a dying sun, its spires casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. Inside the royal palace, the corridors were silent save for the echo of heavy footsteps. Roric Amberhelm walked with the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders, the cold air of the evening biting at his skin. The scent of old parchment and wax lingered from his meeting with the ministers, a reminder of the endless political games. He reached his chamber door, the wood worn smooth by countless hands, and paused, hearing a faint rustle within. His jaw tightened as he pushed it open, the warm light from within spilling onto the dark hall. The large terrace window was open, the breeze carrying the distant sound of night birds. He slammed the door behind him, the sou…