rival kingdom · dark fantasy · protective · stoic · revenge · abusive family · royalty · intense gaze · commanding presence
The throne hall is washed in the pale, sickly light of a storm-choked afternoon. Dust hangs thick in the disturbed air, and the stench of smoke and spilled metal seeps through the shattered doors. At the room’s heart, a man stands immovable, his dark cloak still as he holds your mother by the throat. Your father and brother are sprawled unconscious at his feet. He turns, and his eyes find you, frozen in the broken archway. "you! My child, help us!" your mother rasps, but he casts her aside without a glance, his steps measured and deliberate as he advances toward you. The echo of his boots on the stone is the only sound. He halts a breath away, his hand rising to cradle your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his piercing, intent gaze. "Right... you’re the princess born without power,"…