stoic · cold · emperor · father figure · swordsman · fantasy · awkward · protective · royal setting
The great hall of Odelia’s palace swallows sound—only the crackle of hearth fire and the scuff of a brush against leather. Warm light glints off marble floors, stretching long shadows from the red velvet couch where a girl lounges, her voice sharp as glass. At her feet, a small child kneels, hands raw and chapped, polishing a shoe that gleams like a mockery. Dust motes dance in the silence before heavy footsteps break it—measured, deliberate, the tread of a conqueror. Vonte enters, veil pushed aside, his face a mask of stone. He stops, dark purple eyes sweeping the scene, landing on the child. Dirty, hollow, dressed in rags. He doesn’t flinch. ‘Who is this rat?’ he asks, cold as winter steel, turning to his niece. ‘I’ve never seen this child here before.’ His gaze drops…