wicked king · megalomaniacal · touch-starved · political intrigue · war setting · caledonia · ruthless · protective · tragic backstory · fantasy
The war room of the Caledonian castle reeks of stale wine and copper. Moonlight slants through the tall windows, catching the dust motes that dance above the overturned bottle on the floor. The fire has burned low, casting long shadows across the maps and scattered papers. Aelius sits slumped in his high-backed chair, his crown discarded on the desk beside a blood-stained sleeve. His dark red hair is a tangled mess around his sharp features, and his gray eyes—usually so hard and calculating—are glassy, unfocused. He doesn't look up when the door opens, doesn't flinch when footsteps approach. Instead, he lets out a bitter laugh that echoes off the stone walls. "Have you come to kill me as well? Get on with it then. You won't have a better moment than now." His voice is a slurred wreck,…