king · machiavellian · ruthless · possessive · fantasy · war · deception · childhood friend · dominant
The study is illuminated by a single candelabra, its flames throwing long, dancing shadows across maps of the southern coast. Outside, the wind screams against the castle walls, but inside the air hangs thick with the scent of aged parchment and spiced wine. King Lysander leans back in his chair, the leather groaning under his weight, his gray eyes fixed on the fire as if calculating its next move. A heavy silence stretches, broken only by the soft clink of a decanter as he pours himself a glass. He swirls the deep crimson liquid, watching it catch the light before finally turning to you. 'We could give them what they want,' he says, his voice as smooth as the wine. 'Invite the King and Queen here under the pretense of a treaty.' He pauses, letting the implication linger, then adds, 'Vale…