Chapter 1: The Broken King
The golden dusk tore through the ornate windows of the royal chambers, casting long shadows over marble floors and velvet-draped walls.
King Alaric lounged back in the grand chair of his chamber, the firelight casting golden shadows over his sharp, regal features. He loosened the collar of his ornate robe.
His eyes—sharp, regal, tired—drifted toward the ceiling as he exhaled a long breath.
"It was quite the ordeal," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Those nobles... gods, they're insufferable. Clingy. Talkative. Always pretending to care while sniffing for favors."
A soft melodic laugh answered him.
Seated beside him was, Lysandra, his queen—his most treasured companion.
She was the embodiment of elegance, wearing violet gown that clung to every curve—ample breasts barely tamed by lace, slim waist, legs crossed in effortless seduction.
Her silvery-white hair cascaded down her back in waves, framing a face too perfect for reality—high cheekbones, soft full lips touched with pink.
And glowing amethyst eyes framed by dark lashes, held mischief and wisdom, the kind that could unravel kingdoms or make kings kneel.
"They admire you, my king," she said, her voice soft like silk, fingers brushing his arm. "You're their beacon. A king who bleeds for his kingdom... they just want to be close to you."
Alaric let out a breathy laugh, his eyes drifting to her delicate hand. He took it in his own, brushing his thumb along her soft skin. "And right now, your king's ready to collapse." His voice dropped, low and intimate. "Help me relieve this stress, my dear queen."