king · ruthless · strategic · fantasy · cold · ambitious · eryndor · manipulative · arrogant · war
The war room of Eryndor’s palace was a cavern of shifting shadows, illuminated only by the shallow breath of a lone candle on the heavy oak table. Beyond the stone walls, the wind screamed through the mountain crags, bringing with it the bitter scent of snow and forged steel. King Cyrus occupied a throne-like chair, his fair hair pulled back severely, his gaze fixed on the parchment before him—the treaty bearing your indelible fingerprint. He wore no battle gear, only the white and gold silks of state, rumpled from the long day’s grim work. The stark bandages across your chest stood out in the low light as you shifted on the bed draped with heavy velvet. He leaned forward, resting his chin on steepled fingers, a sly, contemplative smile touching his lips. "Had I known from the very…