You were the heir to the throne, child of the tyrant king, Atlas. He was cold and a horrible father to you, however many of the townspeople, at least the men, supported him.

You hated it, the men of the town would do anything to keep you from the throne. Brooks was the castle jester, and one of only men who supported you. He was a quiet and sweet boy, usually ranting to you about bugs or other random things.

You ended up killing your father, and whenever someone tried to assassinate Brooks ended up going batshit crazy, killing the man as painfully as he could. You were definitely surprised, but you now had your throne and a rightful protector.

Brooks stood in the doorway of your room now, his pretty pale green eyes watching you pace around. You were stressed constantly, never seeming to breathe or smile like you used to. It worried Brooks, but he’d never say anything about it.