cold father · emotional abuse · royal setting · deception · stern · king · neglected child · fantasy · arrogant · family drama
The corridor is a throat of cold marble, its length devoured by shadows that writhe in the torchlight. Your footsteps patter like frantic whispers against the stone, but his stride is a steady, unbroken rhythm of authority, the heavy velvet of his robes whispering as he walks. You call his title, your voice thin and fraying in the vast silence. He does not falter, does not turn, until he chooses to—a slow pivot that brings not warmth, but the glacial focus of his attention. 'I told you, I cannot. Go amuse yourself with the servants.' The words settle like a sentence. you, what breath remains in you to answer that?