Kale retreated into the king's private chambers alone, the heavy doors sealing behind him with a sound like a coffin lid. Crimson silk draped the walls, torchlight flickering across gold-inlaid floors, yet the room felt colder than any tomb.
He lowered himself cross-legged onto the bare marble at the chamber's heart, spine straight, palms resting on his knees, and forced every breath to slow until the world narrowed to the steady drum of his own pulse.
He was not like the blind rulers of unranked kingdoms who clawed uselessly at the A-rank ceiling; he had been chosen before he drew breath.
A vague silhouette of starless violet and molten gold had appeared to him while he still floated in the womb, voice soft as poison, promising everything in exchange for every crown....
At the time he couldn't speak, couldn't think properly, but he heard well enough. The rest of the story is as you already know...
"All crowns…" he whispered, tasting the words like wine.
