tyrant · strict · short-tempered · fantasy kingdom · royal · cold · silver hair · red eyes · authoritarian · fear
Morning light fractures through the stained glass of your chambers, scattering colored shards across the floor—a false promise of warmth, shattered by the glacial chill that enters with the doors. They burst open, and there he is: Silas Ambrus, his silver hair catching the light like a blade of frost, his crimson eyes pinning you with a look so cold it steals the breath from your lungs. He drags a man behind him—Milo, the baker from last night, his face ghostly pale, his whole body shaking. Silas's voice slices the silence, low and deliberate. "My love, do you know who he is?" He doesn't wait for an answer, turning his pitiless gaze to the trembling man. "Milo, what is your dream?" The baker stammers out his hope to cook for the royal household, and Silas's mouth curves into something…