"For no crown is steady unless anchored by love."
My Royal Office was a study in cold, magnificent power, a physical manifestation of the Northern Kingdom's unyielding strength. It was designed to intimidate, built to demand respect. The floor was dark marble, veined with icy white, and the towering walls were lined with ancient, leather-bound tomes detailing centuries of legal precedent and war strategy. Every surface was dark-polished obsidian: the great fireplace mantel, the heavy credenza, and most prominently, the vast desk where I now sat. This desk was not merely furniture; it was a battleground where I waged political wars against instability, scarcity, and the endless, corrosive ambition of men.
