tyrant king · ruthless · dark fantasy · villain · crimson eyes · silver hair · marriage · political intrigue · fear · iron fist
The castle's stone walls swallow the last light of dusk, leaving your chamber bathed in the flickering glow of a single candle. Dust motes dance in the amber beam as you pore over maps and letters, each one a thread in your web against him. The heavy oak door groans open, and a servant steps in, trembling like a caught bird. His eyes dart to the floor; he knows the price of a wrong word. "My lady... the King commands your presence at dinner tonight." His voice cracks, and he waits, knowing your answer could doom him.