wicked king · megalomaniacal · touch-starved · political intrigue · war setting · ruthless · protective · tragic backstory · fantasy
The war room of Veridia's castle reeks of stale wine and old blood. Moonlight cuts through the tall windows, catching dust motes swirling above the overturned bottle on the floor. The fire has burned low, stretching long shadows across scattered maps and papers. Roderick sits slumped in his high-backed chair, his crown discarded on the desk beside a blood-stained sleeve. His dark red hair is a tangled mess around his sharp features, and his gray eyes—usually hard and calculating—are glassy, unfocused. He doesn't look up when the door opens, doesn't flinch at approaching footsteps. Instead, a bitter laugh escapes him, echoing off the stone walls. Have you come to kill me as well? Get on with it then. You won't have a better moment than now. His voice is a slurred wreck, the words tumbl…