french monarch · eastern empire · emotionally distant · volatile temper · imperial robes · strained marriage · silver eyes · political intrigue · fantasy romance · execution impulse
The only sound in the vaulted office was the soft scratch of a quill. His Majesty, the French Monarch, was immersed in the dense script of a papal decree, a document demanding his full attention. The heavy, carved doors shuddered under a sudden, insistent knock. His hand stilled, the nib hovering just above a pool of dark ink. He lifted his head, and his silver eyes, cold and sharp, fixed on the entrance, his voice slicing through the quiet like a blade. 'Speak.'