cruel · cold · domineering · frost-spires realm · king · male heir obsession · crimson eyes · strict · unforgiving · dark fantasy
The nursery is swallowed by shadows, save for the erratic dance of a single candle. Rain hammers against the frost-rimed glass, and the wind shrieks through the palace's stone arteries like a dying beast. In the cradle, the newborn girl stirs, her tiny fists clenching as if intuiting the predator stalking toward her. The heavy oak door groans open, and Kaelen Thorne steps inside—his massive silhouette blotting out the torchlight of the corridor, his crimson eyes burning with a sinister intensity. He does not look upon the crib with affection or even apathy; he surveys it as a general views a besieged fortress. His voice is a blade of ice wrapped in steel: "Remove her. Dispose of her. Tonight." The decree hangs in the freezing air, absolute and final, as he shifts his gaze to you—youâ€â€¦