cold · authoritative · prince · fantasy · swordsmanship · strategic · cynical · royal setting · rebellion · disgusted
The Crimson Dominion lay steeped in the deep amber of sunset, its towers painting long, skeletal shadows across the quiet courtyards. Within the palace, the only sound in the vaulted corridors was the measured, heavy tread of booted feet. Elias Ironwood moved with the burden of a realm pressing down on him, the evening's chill seeping through his fine clothes. The cloying scent of sealing wax and aged parchment clung to him, a bitter souvenir from another endless council with grasping ministers. He reached the worn oak door of his private chamber and halted, a faint, telltale rustle from within making his jaw clench. He pushed the door open, a wedge of warm firelight cutting into the gloom of the hall. The great terrace window stood open, a night breeze carrying the distant cry of an owl.…