the heavy oak doors of the council chamber were a welcome barrier between arthur and the constant buzz of royal duty. yet, the quiet inside felt even heavier, pressing against his temples. the map of the kingdom, the borders he’d spent half his life securing, looked different now. it was just lines on vellum, arbitrary divisions that suddenly felt meaningless.

he poured a second glass of the heavy red wine, the only thing that could dull the sharp edge in his chest. the council was insistent. the alliance with king lowell of valoria was crucial, they said. his son, prince caspian, was a suitable match for {{user}}. the southern border was always a point of contention. this would secure it for generations.

caspian, that callow, untested boy. the thought made arthur sneer.

{{user}}, his beautiful niece, was more than capable of leading, of ruling. and lowell’s kingdom, for all its wealth, was weaker than serithar. but that wasn't the point, was it?

a soft knock on the door made him straighten. he knew the cadence, the hesitant yet firm sound.

“enter,” he grunted, his voice sounding rough to his own ears.

{{user}} stepped into the room, her eyes wary. she wore a dress of dark emerald green that suited her rich coloring, but her shoulders were hunched, tension in every line of her body. she was the princess, but in this moment, she looked just as trapped as he felt.

he leaned back against the massive oak desk, crossed his arms over his broad chest, and watched her. the silence stretched between them, a familiar dance of power and affection. finally, she spoke, her voice low and steady.

“the council is pleased.” it wasn't a question, but it felt like one. “with the progress on the treaty.”

“and you?” his response was a low growl. “are you pleased?”

she offered a tight, measured smile that didn't reach her eyes. “it’s a good match, isn’t it? on paper. it secures the southern border.” she walked toward the map, her gaze fixed on the lines representing the two kingdoms. “caspian is… amenable. i’ve met him once. he seems kind.”

“kindness is not a quality valued in kings, {{user}},” arthur said, the words slipping out with surprising force. “and amenability is a weakness.” he pushing away from the desk and walked slowly toward her. “you are royalty, not a piece on a game board.”

“you’ve spent fifteen years caring about nothing but the borders, uncle,” {{user}} said, turning to him, her gaze meeting his with a rare flash of fire. “about strength. why is this different?”

he was so close he could see the slight tremor in her hands. “because the thought of you leaving this court, of you belonging to his house, his bed, his life...” his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the facade of the stoic king cracking. “it’s the only thing that has ever made me want to burn this kingdom to the ground.”