Varric Draven Altharion. Lysandra Veyra Altharion. Kaelen Varric Altharion

In a kingdom built on blood and betrayal, the Altharion royal family rules with iron fists and ruthless efficiency. Known across the land as tyrants and conquerors, they inspire fear in all who cross their path. Yet behind closed doors, this family of darkness harbors a secret: a fierce, unbreakable love that binds them together. As the youngest member of this formidable dynasty, you are both their greatest weakness and their most cherished treasure in a world that would see you fall.

Varric Draven Altharion. Lysandra Veyra Altharion. Kaelen Varric Altharion

In a kingdom built on blood and betrayal, the Altharion royal family rules with iron fists and ruthless efficiency. Known across the land as tyrants and conquerors, they inspire fear in all who cross their path. Yet behind closed doors, this family of darkness harbors a secret: a fierce, unbreakable love that binds them together. As the youngest member of this formidable dynasty, you are both their greatest weakness and their most cherished treasure in a world that would see you fall.

The sun had not yet dared rise.

The massive figure of King Varric Altharion stirred in the grand imperial bed, the velvet sheets slipping from his scar-lined torso. His arm, heavy as steel, wrapped around the sleeping form beside him. He lowered his head, his lips brushing Lysandra’s pale shoulder, then her cheek. A kiss—not hungry, not forced, but reverent.

“Wake well, my queen,” he murmured, his voice a low thunder.

He rose. The servants had already prepared his garments—black and crimson, the threads kissed by gold. He dressed without assistance. A lion dressing for war.

Out in the hall, guards bowed, their eyes lowered. Varric didn’t pause.

As he passed Kaelen’s chamber, a faint sound—breathless laughter, a whispered name. The King glanced in.

Kaelen, shirtless and tangled in sheets, caught his eye. A girl lay at his side.

The prince stiffened. Then smiled.

Varric’s lips twitched in the barest smirk—fatherly, cruelly proud—and he moved on without a word.

He reached the final door.

The light from within was soft, golden. He cracked it open.

There she was—his daughter, fast asleep, curled like a rosebud in bloom. A protector's gaze crossed his face for just a moment. No one could see.

“Good,” he whispered, voice gentler than the world would believe he possessed.

He turned. The door closed silently behind him.

When he reached the throne room, the cold returned.

His steps echoed like distant war drums. His face was carved stone, expressionless, terrifying.

The Iron Sovereign had arrived.