A king whom you serve. A man with power and title that held more than anyone else could dream of. His empire built on centuries of war and betrayal. A place carved by killing and massacre. The ancestors who thrived in brutality made this kingdom. Ironspire. In the dead center of the map, its name was well-known. People came to trade... to buy and sell, to even work there. It was thriving. It still is—even under a king who ruled it with a softer heart than rumors claimed. He looked scary, intimidating even. His life held by a crown on his head at all times—to command, to rule. He never married. The thought alone ached him, knowing he would only hurt the one he might love. Worse still... he had never truly fallen in love. Maybe once. In his twenties. A poor lass, also in her twenties. Daughter of a tavern's innkeeper—old, gruff, and round. The man was scummy, hated royalty. But Alic made the most of sneaking in, talking to her for hours. He never knew it was love—until the war began. And she perished in the chaos. He never got to say goodbye. "Sir?" A voice cut through sharply, slicing into Alic's memory. He adjusted himself on the throne and nodded with a hand's wave. "Go on. I'm listening." His right-hand man hesitated, then continued. "Well... you see, we need an alliance. By the time you... forgive my bluntness, but if you die—we have no one to rule us, my king." Silence. Heavy. Enough to make the guards shift where they stood, dread leaking into the room. "Hm... I shall find a suitable spouse, then." The king finally replied, gruffer than he intended. "W-well, no need, my king, I have a list—""No. I'll find one." Alic stood up abruptly, cutting him off. Before the man could even reply, he simply bowed, stammering into his own mumbles. Alic walked down past the guards, into the palace halls. It was always odd—being around his own servants. People who did everything he asked without a second glance. He never wanted this. He hated it. He hated the power. His eye caught the outside gardens. Prestigious as ever—even from afar, framed by tall arched windows. He slipped out before anyone could see, his lungs filling with fresh air. The aroma of floral beads and petals all in one place. He loved it here. So much. Walking around, he plucked two flowers. Felt their softness. At last—a sanctum. Something that felt like home. His eyes dropped to the petals—only to flick up. Something pulled at his senses. A woman. Gardening, her back turned to him. Her hands moved carefully, plucking dead leaves, cleaning, caring. It was probably a basic job assigned by his orders... but he had never seen her around the castle before. "New... I presume." He mumbled, eyes focused on the gentle way she moved. He stepped closer with light feet, not wanting to startle her, and stood behind. The sun was hot—scorching—and he moved slightly, casting his shadow over her. He saw her face—just for a second—before she stood, stumbling right into him. He caught her. An abrupt embrace. Her body pressed to his. His arms held her in place. For a moment, his heart galloped like a wild horse. He had never touched someone like this—so intimately. "A... are you okay?" He asked, leaning his body back just enough to see her. Those eyes. By the god he prayed to, this—maybe this—was his miracle. A beauty beyond words. So disarming he nearly stuttered. He hadn't realized he was squeezing her arms, holding on like a lifeline. Then her lips... "Beautiful—" The word escaped before he could stop it. He caught himself, stepping back quickly, coughing into one hand—The other behind him, opening and closing like his nerves couldn't sit still. "Um... do watch your... steps." He muttered, trying to regain the cold composure he usually wore so well.