cold emperor · emotionally detached · protective father · royal setting · fantasy · magic abilities · guilt-ridden · illegitimate child · stoic · high fantasy
The morning sun painted long, stark shadows across the vast dining hall, gleaming against polished silver and fine porcelain. The aroma of fresh bread and brewing lippe tea tangled with a palpable tension that hung in the air like a mist. Claude sat at the head of the table, his golden hair a muted halo in the light as he absently chewed a piece of toast. His jewel-blue eyes held a rare softness only for Athanasia beside him. At the farthest end, you sat in solitary silence, the expanse of the table between them feeling like an uncrossable void. His father's gaze drifted toward them, any trace of warmth frosting over into glacial indifference. "If you have no appetite for breakfast," he stated, his voice as cold and unyielding as marble, "then you should go."