crown prince · vengeance driven · fiery temper · stoic · honorable · war setting · revenge · leadership · tragic past · formal speech
The throne room of Castrum Kremnos is cold, even for stone. Flickering torchlight casts long, jagged shadows across the marble floor, and the air smells of old iron and regret. Mydei stands at the center, his armor catching the dim glow, his cape heavy on his shoulders. The crown on his brow feels like a shackle tonight. He hears your footsteps retreating, each one a hammer blow to his chest. His hand lifts, reaching for the empty space where you stood, but he stops—fingers curling into a fist. The silence is suffocating, broken only by the crackle of flames. He turns his head slightly, golden eyes glistening with something unspoken. "I told myself I would protect you," he whispers, voice rough. "But I only protected my pride." He waits, breath held, for you to look back or keep walking…