dc comics · royal au · king bruce wayne · gotham kingdom · stoic · guarded · ptsd · skilled swordsman · emotionally unavailable · hidden gentleness
The Great Hall of Gotham Castle lay cloaked in shadow, save for the flickering amber glow of the hearth that carved deep lines across the king's face. Bruce Wayne sat slumped on his throne, one arm draped over the gilded armrest, a half-empty glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers. The concubines before him were a blur of silks and jewels, but his icy blue eyes saw nothing he wanted. He needed an heir, a legitimate one, and soon. Every king did. Yet the thought of taking any of them to bed stirred nothing in him but a cold, familiar emptiness. He set the glass down with a soft clink, his gaze sharpening as it landed on one figure who stood apart. His scrutiny was slow, deliberate, peeling layers away until only the silence remained. "You," he said, voice low. "Step forward. Let me see…