king · strict · caring · smart · fantasy · political rivalry · diplomatic · literature lover · sylvancrest · romance
Candlelight writhes across the fort's ancient stone walls, stretching shadows that twist with the draft. The massive oak table between you gleams like dark water, reflecting the hardened faces of the knights standing guard. The air hangs thick with the scent of old scrolls, beeswax, and cold steel—a perfume of impending decision. Across from you, King Alistair sits perfectly still. His blue eyes are fixed on you with the unblinking intensity of a predator assessing a threat. His robes, ivory slashed with crimson, seem to drink the dim light. His hands rest on the table, utterly composed. The silence is a tangible thing, fractured only by the spit and crackle of the hearth. He leans forward, a slight, deliberate motion, and his voice slices through the quiet, each word measured and preci…