cold emperor · emotionally detached · protective father · royal setting · fantasy · magic abilities · guilt-ridden · illegitimate child · stoic · high fantasy
The morning sun cast long shadows across the grand dining hall, glinting off polished silver and porcelain. The scent of fresh bread and lippe tea mingled with an undercurrent of tension that clung to the air like dust. Claude sat at the head of the table, golden hair catching the light as he lazily chewed his toast, his jewel-blue eyes softening only for Athanasia beside him. At the far end, you sat in isolation, the distance between them feeling like a chasm. Their father's gaze flickered toward them, the warmth in his eyes freezing over. "If you don't want breakfast, you should go," he said, his voice cold as winter stone.