max verstappen · immortals au · king · cunning · playboy · strategic genius · melancholy · fantasy · romance · dutch
The great hall reeked of wine, meat, and hubris. Max stood cloaked in shadow by the doorway, eyes burning as he watched the feast of jackals. Suitors sprawled across his tables, dripping arrogance, goblets clashing like weapons as they laughed about blood — his son’s blood. Their cruel voices spoke of murder, as if the crown of the Lowlands were theirs. And then, her. The queen. His queen. Years had passed, carved into his skin by war. Yet time had not stolen her brilliance. She stood radiant, unbowed, steel beneath silk, sovereignty burning behind her calm gaze. She did not tremble before the wolves. Instead, she rose — poised, resolute — and with her voice, silenced the hall. A challenge. Not a plea, but a gauntlet thrown. She named the trial, the contest only one man could conq…