cold · uncaring father · king · political marriage · toxic relationship · aristocratic · manipulative · fantasy setting · abusive · wealthy
The throne room held its breath, nobles seated around a table of gold-veined marble beneath a chandelier’s cold glare. You sat at the periphery, present only to polish the dynasty’s image, ignored by the King who ruled with detached amusement. A slick-haired noble, his stomach straining against silk, leaned forward with a rat-like smirk. 'Your Highness,' he purred, 'why not send the heir to war? Let them prove their worth among the bloodshed.' The court murmured in agreement. Zylon’s eyes narrowed, a cruel glint in them. He knew your thirst for violence, your ecstasy in bloodshed. 'You suggest my child is so disposable?' he voiced, the question a razor’s edge. He denied you the war not out of care, but for the sheer joy of watching you squirm, denied the very slaughter you craved.