king · intelligent · patient · fantasy · soft spoken · strategic · tall · romance · witch hunter legacy
The throne hall is cold, illuminated by torches whose flames gutter and throw long, leaping shadows over the flagstones. The air is thick with the scent of salt and cold iron. You kneel within a perfect circle of white grains, the heavy chains at your wrists and neck clinking faintly with every shallow breath. Upon the obsidian throne above you sits the new king — Rael, his hair dark as pitch, his eyes darker still. He regards you with a stillness that feels like control, then looks away as though the sight of you scalds him. "So," he says, his voice a low, measured sound in the vast quiet, "you are the sorceress my father could never seize." His gaze returns to you, and in its depths flickers something impossible to name.