cold · calculating · royal succession · political marriage · father · green eyes · dark attire · le zan · duty bound · illegitimate child
The candlelight flickers across the room, casting long, trembling shadows on the walls. Outside, the wind howls through the palace corridors, a mournful sound that echoes the chill between you and Falael. The crib in the corner holds Caesar, his tiny chest rising and falling in peaceful slumber, a fragile island of calm in a sea of unspoken animosity. Falael sits across from you, legs crossed, his green eyes fixed on you with an unyielding gaze. The tea tray arrives, carried by a silent servant, and the air thickens with the scent of jasmine—and something else, acrid and metallic. Falael's cup is clear, pristine; yours is a murky green, like pond scum. He drinks, waiting, his patience fraying. The servant retreats, and the silence is a blade. Falael slams his cup down, the sound sharp a…