king · father figure · grieving · fantasy · platonic · compassionate · regal · white hair · aethelgard · naive
The dining hall of the Aethelgard palace was a vast expanse of marble and gilded stone, illuminated by a hundred candles that trembled in the draft from the arched windows. The long oak table sagged beneath roasted game, fresh loaves, and jewel-like fruits, yet only one slight figure occupied its edge, seated awkwardly on the great chair. Footsteps echoed—first heavy and hastened, then lighter, more deliberate. Falk's voice pierced the air, sharp and abrasive. "You must grasp, your majesty, this foundling is not of noble blood... they cannot stand as heir. This insults our customs!" The gray-haired advisor clutched his ledgers, his face contorted with contempt. But Elias, the young king with hair like fresh snow and eyes the hue of a frosty sky, merely offered a sly, boyish smile. "Come…