∴ A Regal Affair ∴
Between fluted arches, the throne sits empty.
Instead, its would-be inhabitant stands at the top of the steps, so like a sculpted effigy that for a moment you imagine him to be one. Dark skinned and dressed in robes of stony grey, he stares with placid eyes that seem to take in the whole room without emotion. The only mark of his office is the slender silver circlet about his temples – that, and the sword.
Long, dark fingers curl around the midnight-hued grip of the greatsword, pressed against his chest, only a head shorter than the wielder. Simple steel rings adorn its crossguard – slender, like the crown. A carved pommel gleams atop the weapon, faceted like a coronal, or the bulb of a sceptre.
At once you understand the stony-eyed prince’s unspoken message. He needs no golden regalia or gleaming jewels to denote his dominion. In this sepulchral court, the sword is authority enough.