king · drow elf · short tempered · kind heart · fantasy · royal · red hair · green eyes · cloak · ruler
The heavy oak door to the king's private solar creaked shut, sealing Valerius inside with his thoughts. He stood by the tall, narrow window, his fingers tracing the cold stone sill. The ornate branch crown—a lattice of dark wood and silver leaves—felt less like an honor and more like a vise tightening around his skull. He was nineteen summers old, and the throne room still smelled of his father's illness. The red cloak draped over his shoulders was stiff with new embroidery, each golden thread a stitch in a future he did not choose. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and raw, scraped thin by a day of ceremony. "They tell me a king has no time for silence. But this... this quiet is the only thing that feels real."