SilverPaw — Roleplayer Guild


	^{Attire: Theater fit Date and Time: Sola 28th, Late morning Location: Theater Mention(s): @princess Anastasia, @JJ Doe Fritz, @FunnyGuy Lorenzo Interaction(s):}
Edin & Wulfric

Date and time: 25th of Sola, Evening, after the Detective meeting

After attending Lady Charlotte’s meeting, which had given food for thought, Wulfric returned to the castle. He was just in time for dinner. With Callum attending the courting event, Anastasia who knows where, and mother no doubt choosing to abstain, the dining room was occupied only by Edin and the castle servants. His entrance was announced by one of them, and the prince bowed in the king’s direction. “Good evening, father,” he greeted, then sat down. “If you are amenable, I wish to discuss something with you.”

The grand dining hall of the castle felt unusually quiet. The soft clinking of silverware from the attending servants was the only noise until Wulfric’s entrance. 

The king was seated at the head of the table, his posture rigid and his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. A goblet of wine sat untouched before him. 

“Wulfric,” he acknowledged, his voice taut. “Good evening. Take your seat.”

For a moment, the king said nothing, as if weighing his words. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his face. “If you wish to discuss something,” he began, “then speak plainly. ”

“I will.” Wulfric cocked his head to the side, observing Edin. He was unusually somber. “But is something the matter, father?” If something had happened to affect the king so, it was best he be aware of it.

The king’s expression shifted, his scowl melting into a grin so forced it could have been carved from marble. He leaned back in his chair, spreading his arms wide as though addressing an adoring crowd.

“Nothing to fret over, truly. Just the tiresome nature of gossip. It seems one of my concubines has been too liberal with her tongue.” He chuckled, the sound cold and humorless. 

Wulfric tsked. “She should know better,” he stated, tone just as cool as his father’s laugh. Edin’s avoidance was obvious. While he doubted the concubines were the direct cause of the king’s bad mood, perhaps they had been involved somehow or other.

“Whispers of this and that….” He raised his goblet in mock salute. “As if enjoying the finer things in life isn’t our divine right.”

Dark smirk in place, his son returned the salute with a wine glass, sipping at his drink without further comment.

“But rest assured, I will find out exactly who dared to betray my trust. And when I do—” He leaned forward, his smile vanishing. “She’ll wish her lips had stayed sealed.”

The flicker of fury in his eyes softened just enough for him to lean back again, adopting a grander, theatrical air. He gestured toward Wulfric, his tone shifting to false cheer.

“But enough of that unpleasantness, eh? Tell me, my ever-dutiful son, what’s on your mind? Surely it’s more riveting than my trivial woes.”

“Speaking of trust…” he twirled his glass before setting it down. Maybe it wasn’t the best timing, but if he never asked, he would never find out more. Straight to the point it was then. “I heard you hired Alexander Deacon as one of your advisors. A known member of the Black Rose, as I am sure you are aware. Last time we spoke, you told me Delronzo should be my ally, yet that you never considered him such. Frankly…I am confused. Why hire one of his lackeys now? There are more direct ways to deal with Marek, if that is what you are aiming to do. If he is as dangerous as you alluded to, why not eradicate him and his organization? We have done so with our enemies in the past.” Wulfric knew it wasn’t that simple - it never was. However, his aim was to get Edin to reveal something, anything.

Edin’s laugh rang out, sharp and dismissive, as though Wulfric’s words had been a jest rather than a serious inquiry. He picked up his goblet and took a long, deliberate sip before setting it down with a flourish.

“Deacon? A lackey?” He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Do you think I would let someone like him sit at my table without purpose? This is not about trust. It is about control. Keeping my enemies closer, as they say.”

“What do you expect to gain from him? He doesn’t seem like someone who would slip up that easily. The closer you keep him, the more access he has as well.”

Edin gestured broadly, as though addressing an unseen audience. “The Black Rose fancies itself untouchable, a shadow lurking beyond the reach of the crown. But shadows are nothing without light, and I am the sun they fear to face. Marek plays his games, but so do I. Deacon is not here to advise me. He is here to be watched, manipulated, and used… But let me educate you on something, Wulfric. The Black Rose holds certain...knowledge. Dangerous knowledge. The kind that could sow chaos not just within the court, but across the kingdom. Knowledge that, if wielded recklessly, could turn allies into enemies and topple even the mightiest of thrones.”

Edin’s smile returned, this time more indulgent, as though he were humoring a child. “And yet, here we stand. The crown remains upon my head, the palace stands strong, and the Danrose name commands respect. Why? Because I am not some impulsive fool charging into battle without a plan. I see the long game, Wulfric. I play it better than anyone else and someday you will follow in my footsteps.”

He leaned back once more, lifting his goblet in mock salute. “So, worry not about Deacon or Marek. They think they are untouchable, but in truth, they are pawns in a far greater game. One I intend to win. Always remember, my son—when you sit on the throne, it is not brute strength that keeps you there, but the ability to outmaneuver those who would see you fall.”

“If they need to be outmaneuvered, they are either as powerful as us or even more so. Do they need our support to thrive or are they an independent threat?” he queried, referring to the light and shadows comparison. “Most importantly, what is the knowledge they hold? How did they come by it? If this is a game, as you say, I need to know its nature. Else I will be playing it blind. An unwarranted disadvantage, wouldn’t you say, father?”

Edin’s smile thinned. “Support?” He scoffed. “No, Wulfric, I do nothing of the sort. If they thrive, it is not because I lift a finger to aid them.” But nor did he lift a finger to stop them, not as far as the prince had seen.

The king took a slow breath, setting his goblet down. His voice dropped its flair, the words edged with steel. “You ask too many questions, Wulfric. Questions that are dangerous to answer… Know this: I have tried to deal with the Black Rose before. I tried to burn them out, to strike them down, as you suggest.” At that, Wulfric’s eyebrows crept up in surprise.

His father leaned forward, his gaze hard, unwavering. “The knowledge they hold if revealed… We lose everything. The loyalty of the nobles, the trust of the people… Do you think they would follow us after doubt taints our name?”

He gestured sharply, as though brushing away the very thought. “Chaos. That’s what would follow. Civil war, perhaps. Scorn. The Danrose name, a stain in history. That is the price of that knowledge.”

Edin paused, letting the gravity settle between them. Then he leaned back again, the faint shadow of a smirk returning.

“So, I do what must be done. I let the Black Rose live in the shadows, because if they ever step into the light, it is not just us they will burn, but the kingdom itself.”

“That, my son, is all you need to understand.”

When his father had first mentioned dangerous knowledge, Wulfric had suspected it to be one of the following things: pure paranoia, an allusion to magic, or the knowledge that Edin was in cahoots with criminals. Even if it was all of that, there was clearly more to it, however. It wasn’t something that would threaten the kingdom in general, but their family specifically. Knowledge which would stain their name, cause a loss of trust, a loss of loyalty. “So–what? We took over?” he gestured at the space above his head, where a crown might sit. “If that is what you are implying, it must not have been done by any respectable means.”

Edin leaned his head back as he took another long gulp. There was a brief pause as he took a moment to refill it himself.

In history, power changing hands was not unusual. There was no such thing as an eternal dynasty or an everlasting kingdom, and as Edin feared, thrones could be toppled. However, usually such struggles left behind a record. Yet, the prince was not aware of any usurpation, and the names of past Danrose kings were well known. Their royal lineage was seemingly unbroken for the past several centuries. Could it be a lie? He was not sure how close to the truth he was, but there had to have been something his family had done which would be deemed treasonous. Something which would put their legitimacy in question, and thus disqualify them from the throne in the eyes of the people. The mystery was what exactly had happened, when, and how. But unless Edin suddenly felt like opening up, he had to take a different tack.

Wulfric leaned forward, tone earnest as he spoke. “Father, regardless of anything else, we are here now. Have we come this far only to be cowed into submission by the likes of Delronzo?” He clasped his hands together, gaze unwavering. “The after-party fiasco made one thing abundantly clear: he is no longer content to stay in the shadows.”

Edin’s grip on his goblet tightened, his knuckles whitening. Another loud gulp filled the room, the wine draining faster now as his nerves betrayed him. 

He lowered his tone, inviting Edin into his space, his demeanour solemn. His father had leaned in upon the invitation, his eyes flickering with interest. “Because of his attack on multiple nobles and royals, we were already at risk of war with the Alidasht. Are Marek’s actions not a sign that he dares challenge our authority?” he questioned poignantly. “What would befall us if we were to do nothing?” he pressed fiercely. “We risk all that you fear with inaction.” He paused, letting that sink in.

“But it doesn’t need to be like this. There is another way,” voice rising with zeal, irises gleaming brightly, he set his palms upon the dining table. “We can overcome this. Can you imagine it? A kingdom free of this pest. A kingdom where we are celebrated as heroes for eradicating the deeply rooted crime syndicate which threatens us all. All power, all control, all glory will be fully ours. We will finally be free, free from fear, free from manipulation, free from any ‘dangerous knowledge’.”

King Edin’s eyes gleamed in tandem with his son, his eyes set upon the chandelier as if it were presenting the glorious future that Wulfric described. It was more than a vision—it was a dream he had clung to since ascending the throne, only to discover the tangled web of strings that bound him. A dream that had haunted not just him, but his father before him, passed down like an unfulfilled legacy awaiting its moment of fruition.

He rose from his chair now. “I can see it. I can feel it. I can taste it. All we need to do is reach for it,” he mimicked grasping something within the air, holding it victoriously within his fist. 

Edin’s eyes widened, transfixed by his son’s intensity. Without thinking, his own hand shot up, mirroring Wulfric’s motion as if he too could seize the intangible prize. His fingers curled in midair, grasping nothing, before the absurdity of his action dawned on him. Slowly, his hand dropped back to his lap, a sheepish chuckle escaping him.

Taking a breath, he sat down again, voice softer but no less intense. “Please. Let me help you, father. This is my legacy, too. You have tried eradicating Black Rose in the past. Will you tell me of your previous attempts, at least? Failure is nothing to be ashamed of; it is but a stepping stone to success,” he locked gazes with the king. “You know what he holds over us, and how he wields his knowledge as a weapon. All we need to do is neutralize his advantage – and launch our counterattack.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Edin stared at his son, his fingers drumming the table. Then, a slow chuckle escaped him. It was dry, bitter, but tinged with admiration. His gaze lifted to the chandelier above them, watching it sway ever so slightly with the drafts in the room.

Instead of addressing Wulfric directly, Edin’s expression shifted, as though he were being pulled backward into the labyrinth of his own memories. His lips curled into a faint smirk, though his eyes betrayed a lingering resentment. “...You know, Wulfric,” he began, his voice slipping into a more contemplative tone, though the usual haughty edge remained, “I never truly understood why old George was so damned relentless with Jane and me. Why perfection was the only acceptable standard, and anything less was treated as if we’d plotted treason against the crown.”

Wulfric had never asked for a backstory, so of course, Edin was going to give him one anyway.

He scoffed, waving his hand loosely in the air as if dismissing the absurdity of it all. “The man demanded we shine like polished diamonds, yet he let the rot fester beneath our feet. All those whispers, all that corruption, and what did he do? Turned a blind eye. He was obsessed with appearances, you see. The image of a perfect royal family was all that mattered to him. And I—” he jabbed a finger at his own chest, his voice growing slightly louder, “I had to live under that crushing shadow of expectation.” What his son couldn’t understand was that if the king was so bitterly aware of the hypocrisy, why was he doing the same damn thing?

Edin leaned forward now, his elbows on the table, his smirk fading into something darker. “I thought for years it was just cruelty, the man’s way of keeping us in line. But no…” His voice dropped, almost conspiratorial as he stared at Wulfric. “It was fear. He knew. He knew. That’s why he was so brutal. He knew we were teetering on a knife’s edge. And do you know what he left me with when he was gone? This.” He gestured vaguely to the crown on his head, his tone bitter but full of mockery. “A crown so heavy with secrets it’s a wonder I haven’t been crushed under the weight.”

Now, you too are afraid, father, Wulfric thought but didn’t say.

For a moment, Edin let the words hang in the air, his gaze returning to the chandelier. The faint glimmer in his eyes hinted at something deeper but his pride quickly masked it. He straightened up, smoothing his robes, as though the moment of vulnerability had never happened.

“And now here I am, Wulfric,” he added, his voice taking on its usual arrogance, “carrying not just my father’s burdens, but my own. Trying to balance it all while the damned world waits for me to stumble. And you—you think I don’t see it? The looks, the whispers. They all want a crack in the Danrose name. But let me tell you something…” His tone hardened, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on his son. “We don’t crack. Not while I wear this crown.” He paused, the shadow of his memories flitting across his features like an unwelcome ghost.

Don’t we? Then why was it that they were on the brink of shattering? The kingdom was rotting from the inside out, the infestation known as the Black Rose had long since taken root, and was now strangling them all, as suffocating as a demonic gargoyle perching on their chest, waiting until they were too feeble to resist to deliver its final strike. Unrest was brewing beneath Caesonia’s surface, the illusion of ‘perfection’ only that; nothing but smoke from a pipe dream which had long since lost its luster. 

“...As I got older, the questions gnawed at me, just as they gnaw at you now,” he said, his tone laced with bitterness. “Why this family operates the way it does. Why certain truths linger in the open, untouched, while others are locked away so tightly even whispering of them feels dangerous.”

“Why, then?” the prince couldn’t help but prompt.

Edin leaned back in his chair, exhaling a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of decades. His gaze drifted back to Wulfric, scrutinizing his son’s face as if searching for a hint of understanding. “George never told me much about the Black Rose,” he addressed finally, his voice quieter but no less bitter. “He let them move as they pleased, work in the shadows, and every time I pressed him for answers, he brushed me off. Always the same: ‘You’ll understand when you’re ready.’”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as if the words were a burden he’d carried too long. When they finally spilled out, they came with an undercurrent of quiet rage. “But he did tell me one thing. The curse. A family curse, he called it. One that’s been with us for centuries. He claimed our ancestors had cast a spell or perhaps made some deal with powers far beyond human comprehension. And the cost…” Edin’s voice faltered, his fingers tightening on the armrest of his chair. “The cost was steep. Steeper than any of us can truly fathom.”

“A family curse…?” Wulfric repeated quietly, undeniably intrigued.

The king’s lips curled into a bitter smile, though his eyes burned with quiet fury. “George believed it with every fiber of his being. He said we had to be perfect. Not just in appearance, but in every damn thing we did. Failure wasn’t just a blemish; it was a crack in the very foundation of our power. And if those cracks grew? The curse would see to it that everything we’ve ever had would crumble to nothing.”

You don’t need a curse for that to happen… Once again, the prince kept his opinion to himself.

Edin’s hand moved to his face, rubbing it as though trying to erase the strain etched into his features. When he spoke again, his voice was softer but no less intense. “He raised me like a soldier heading to war. Every lesson, every punishment, every word—driven by the belief that if I faltered, the Gods themselves would turn their backs on us. That all the advantages we enjoy, all the power we wield, would be stripped away in an instant.”

Wulfric had to choke down a scoff. The Gods? As if they cared. However, the prince noted that his father spoke of belief. Perhaps, the king himself did not believe what George had.

Edin shook his head, his bitterness giving way to something almost vulnerable, though his pride still lingered in every word. “When I became king, I swore I wouldn’t saddle you children with that same weight. I wanted to teach you how to rule, how to maintain our grip on this throne, without making you believe a curse hung over your heads like a blade. But…” He trailed off, his gaze falling away from Wulfric for a moment.

“But I always knew there’d come a day when I’d have to tell you. A day when the truth would become your burden, too. I just hoped to spare you a few more years of ignorance. A few more years without this dastardly knowledge.”

He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head again. “Ignorance really is bliss, isn’t it? Shame it’s never lasted long in this family.” The prince couldn’t disagree more. True, he might have been burdened by the notion of a curse as a child, but now? All he wanted was to know more.

“...Anyway, as a young king, my curiosity was insatiable, and my confidence was unmatched. I thought myself invincible, Wulfric.” He smirked faintly, though it quickly faded. “When George perished, I sought answers to the questions he refused to explain. And so, I went straight to the source. I questioned them directly—the Black Rose.”

“The source?” Wulfric questioned sharply. Was the Black Rose the source of their curse, then?

Edin let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Do you know what they gave me in return? Empty threats. The kind of hollow words I throw at you when I’ve had enough of your nagging.” He leaned back slightly, gesturing with his goblet before taking a long sip. “For years, I never even knew the name of their leader. No name, no face—just shadows.”

He sighed, his smirk replaced by a more somber expression as he tapped a finger on the edge of the table. “So, I did what any king would do. I sent spies, informants—hell, I even found and hired mages to plunge into their world.”

Wulfric blinked at the casual mention of mages. He had assumed his father would be even more averse to such an idea than his mother. The queen had alluded to as much, yet she too was clearly missing some crucial details.

“For a brief time, it seemed like I had gained the upper hand. Several key members of the organization were captured, but I realized it hadn’t been enough. The organization continued to thrive...”

Edin’s gaze darkened, his tone growing colder. “I made the next logical move: I sent assassins to eliminate the leaders. If I couldn’t expose them, I’d destroy them.” He let out a humorless laugh. “And that’s when they turned their eyes on me. For a week, they cursed me. Hexed me. Made every waking moment a torment I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. And when they’d had their fun, they sent me a message: if I kept pushing, if I dared defy them again, they would turn that wrath on you, my unborn heir.”

He pointed toward Wulfric, his hand trembling slightly, whether from anger or the wine. “You weren’t even out of your mother’s womb, and already they threatened you. So, I stopped. What choice did I have? I refocused. I wore the face of perfection, as a king must. As we must.” His gaze hardened as he sat up straighter. “And I made damn sure the rest of this family did the same.”

And so, history repeats.

Edin sighed again, his expression shifting to one of frustrated resignation. “Then, just a few months ago, the leader finally showed himself—Marek Delronzo. He strolled into my court late at night, after years of never showing his face, Wulfric, as bold as you please, and revealed the truth. He laid it bare before me, laughing as he did it. He called it their insurance policy—the knowledge that could destroy everything we are.” His lip curled in disdain. “Why we’ve allowed the Black Rose to flourish. Why we’ve tolerated their games. And that truth ties back to the curse—our family’s curse. The very thing George warned me about, the thing that’s haunted us for generations. And Marek?” He paused, his voice dripping with venom. “He made me regret ever learning it. He threatened you. Your siblings. The entire damn legacy of the Danrose name.”

Edin slammed his goblet onto the table, the sound reverberating through the room. “And now he’s toying with your brother and sister, making them pieces in his twisted little game, making sure we know who’s pulling the strings” He leaned forward again, his eyes locking onto Wulfric’s with a fiery intensity. “But make no mistake, Wulfric. The only way to win this game is to kill Marek Delronzo. And not just him. You kill anyone else who dares hold a knife to our throats.” With a slight tilt of his head, Edin moved closer, his voice dropping to a low, foreboding whisper. “And son…you need to understand what that means. To kill them all, to put an end to this…it won’t just be their blood spilled. They will take from us as well. They will do things. To the people you love.”

His eyes darkened, the weight of his words sinking in.

“The things they’ll do to your mother. Your sister. Things that you and I are incapable of imagining. Are you willing to take that risk?” He paused, letting the question linger before continuing, his tone becoming almost mournful. “I wasn’t. I did what I had to, to keep you safe—all of you. These threats aren’t the empty ones I mentioned before, Wulfric. They are inevitable if we cross them. A certainty. So I ask you again…is your pride worth your precious sister’s life?”

“My precious sister? The one whose existence you have refuted since she was a child? The one you refuse to acknowledge or even so much as look at? The one who has craved your love and recognition most of all? The one who feels like she doesn’t belong here at all?” He exhaled sharply. Softening his tone, he queried gently, “Are you certain it is my sister you are referring to, father?” He had no idea how his deceased aunt, the princess Jane, had died. Possibly, it had nothing to do with the Black Rose at all. However, he recognized by Edin’s fixation on a sister that Jane’s death must have left a wound.

The prince sighed, and shook his head. “This is not merely for my pride’s sake. As you have noticed, Delronzo has already drawn Callum and Anastasia into his web. They believe him to be a true friend, you realize?” A pained smile tightened his lips into a thin, white line. “How his betrayal would hurt them…” He chuckled, though the raspy sound was more akin to weakened coughing. “Then again, he might not have to do that at all. He could keep manipulating them, so they remain unaware while he continues to do as he pleases, committing atrocities left and right.” He met Edin’s eyes. “That is exactly why he is a danger we cannot permit. He is already doing whatever he wants - but only because he sees that we are unwilling to stop him.” He inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly.

“You were once a threat to him, until he struck terror into you,” he concluded. “Hostages are only valuable if they are alive…and if we let him blackmail us with their lives.” A harsh sentiment which chilled to the bone. They were both aware what a man like Marek would do if he realized a hostage had lost their use. Wulfric knew in his heart of hearts that he could not so easily doom his siblings. And yet—

“I will do what I can to safeguard the few precious people in my life. But I refuse to yield to the man who is wreaking havoc upon our country, our home. As long as he lives, we are all but slaves to his whims. We will never be safe as long as he exists. We will never be free as long as he has us under the yoke of fear and secrecy.” His jaw clenched, fingers digging into his palms with bruising force. He held onto the tension until he no longer could, and once released from its grip, was able to speak yet again.

“Yes, I am willing to take that risk.” Wulfric’s voice carried the full weight of his conviction. He stared at his father, calm and resolute. In the younger man’s glacial blue irises lurked the understanding of what it meant to lose a loved one, to have them subjected to unimaginable torture while you could do nothing. It had been none other than his own father who had branded that experience into his very soul so many years ago, all for the sake of preserving their ‘perfect image’.

“It is time we put an end to this once and for all.” His words were quiet, but the statement was no less impactful.

A moment of silence passed. Then, “You still haven’t told me the nature of our family’s curse,” he remarked. “What is it? What did George tell you? What did Delronzo reveal? Is Marek a descendant of one of the casters, or does he have access to these–forces beyond our comprehension?” The questions surged forth one after the other, his desire to understand uncontainable. “You have hired mages once, why not employ them for our protection? Must we toil under some curse if there is a chance we could break it?

Edin set the goblet down with a heavy clink, the sound reverberating in the tense silence. “You have no idea how many risks I’ve taken, how many sacrifices I’ve made for this family to remain standing. You accuse me of yielding to Marek’s terror? Of course, I yielded! What choice was there? You think bravery alone would have kept you and your siblings alive, would have protected your mother from his wrath? You think I could gamble the lives of my children on a chance that might not even exist?” His voice rose slightly, his usual composure slipping, but he caught himself, exhaling slowly.

“And as for the curse…” He rubbed his temple, the weight of Wulfric’s questions visibly pressing on him. “George told me…” he began, his voice quieter now, though the bitterness had not softened. “He told me that we are under the constant gaze of the Gods themselves. That every Danrose must perform at a divine level—not merely human, but above humanity. We must excel in everything: our rule, actions, and even how we are perceived.”

His eyes darkened as his tone deepened. “He said we must prove, time and again, that we are worthy of the power we wield. That we are more than mortal rulers. That we are, in the eyes of the people, as Gods themselves.” His lip curled slightly, a bitter sneer creeping onto his face.

“And do you know what happens if we fail? If we stumble—if we are seen as anything less than perfection?” He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Wulfric’s with a fiery intensity. “He said the Gods would strip us of everything. Every advantage, every ounce of respect, every claim to this throne—gone. Terrible misfortune would befall us, and the Danrose name would crumble into ash, remembered only as a cautionary tale of failure.”

He sat back in his chair, his hand dragging down his face as though the weight of the words had physically exhausted him. “In essence, Wulfric, we are slaves to their whims. To their judgment. Every move we make must please them. Every decision must satisfy their standards, or we risk bringing ruin upon ourselves—and upon Caesonia. Whether it could be broken is not known to me.”

Edin’s gaze hardened as he recalled Wulfric’s questions. “I do not know who or what Marek truly is, but his power is undeniable. He is a master of dark magic, a force that always demands a price. Sanity, life, even the soul—magic claims them all eventually. That is why I do not deal with mages. They are rare, unstable, and doomed to fall to the very power they wield.”

He leaned forward, his tone sharp. “And more than that, toying with magic defies the will of the Gods. It is a path fraught with blasphemy, one that often ends in ruin. Marek may have embraced it, but it will destroy him in time. Perhaps that is his weakness, if we are patient enough to exploit it.”

For a moment after he spoke, he seemed to be contemplating in his head. Abruptly, Edin slammed his goblet onto the table, the sharp sound reverberating through the room. “You’ve pressed me for answers as if I owe you every dark secret of this throne. I have told you what you need to know—enough to understand the stakes. But I will not sit here and be interrogated like a common criminal.”

His glare pierced his son as he stood, his robes swishing sharply as he turned his back. “If you are so eager to play hero, then do it. But do not come running to me when your boldness leads to disaster. Now leave me be—I tire of your questions and your naivety.” With that, he waved a dismissive hand, signaling an end to the conversation as he turned his attention to the window, his jaw clenched and his posture rigid.

“I was asking you the same questions you must have once asked yourself, but very well,” Wulfric stood up. “I shall leave you with one final thought to consider, if you will, Your Majesty. How does our rule excel, how is it perfect when we have committed so many atrocities purely so we can remain in power? Where are the Gods to condemn us for what we have done, for the injustices we have left unaddressed?” His gaze lingered on his father for a moment, then the prince finally took his leave.
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