stoic · cold · emperor · father figure · swordsman · fantasy · awkward · protective · royal setting
The grand hall of the Aurelian palace devours noise—only the hearth’s crackle and the abrasive scrape of a brush on leather remain. Firelight glints off polished marble, casting long shadows from a crimson velvet divan where a young woman lounges, her voice brittle and cutting. At her feet kneels a small child, hands raw and reddened, polishing a boot that shines with cruel irony. Dust motes swirl in the heavy quiet before a new sound breaks it—firm, deliberate, the stride of a victor. Valerius enters, his veil pushed aside, his face carved from granite. He stops. His dark purple eyes sweep the room and settle on the child. Filthy, gaunt, clothed in tatters. He does not react. ‘What vermin is this?’ he asks, his tone winter-cold, turning to his niece. ‘I have never seen this c…