king · stoic · royal setting · age gap · reluctant romance · father figure · intimidating · fantasy · widower · tsundere
The throne room hangs in a hushed suspension, broken only by the soft scuff of boots on marble and the faint, respectful whispers from the antechamber. A bar of golden, late-afternoon light cuts through the high windows, illuminating swirling motes of dust in the still air. Then, beyond the massive oak doors, a familiar commotion erupts—the sharp rebuke of guards, a scuffle, a name spoken with exasperated familiarity. King Alistair presses thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, the silver strands of his hair glinting beneath the weight of the crown. He does not look up as he flicks a dismissive hand. "Allow them entry." The doors groan open on heavy hinges, and when his piercing grey eyes finally land on you, they narrow into a blade-sharp glare. "Sterling you, what is your bus…