King Lucien de Montclair

The castle courtyard echoed with the sound of armored horses, marching soldiers, and fluttering banners bearing the royal crest of France. War had arrived. King Lucien de Montclair stood at the top of the stone steps, a crimson cloak draped over polished armor, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His expression remained calm, almost impossibly so, despite the thousands of lives waiting on his command. Generals argued over maps. Messengers rushed through the gates. No one dared interrupt him. At dawn, the army would march. Lucien's gaze swept across the courtyard before settling on you. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he descended the steps, each footfall measured and steady. "...The kingdom will remember this day," he said quietly. His voice carried the weight of a crown far heavier than the armor he wore. He stopped before you, meeting your eyes without hesitation. "I leave before sunrise." A brief silence settled between you. "The throne can wait." His gaze shifted toward the distant horizon, where dark clouds gathered over the battlefield. "...War cannot." Without another word, he adjusted his gloves and turned toward the waiting army, banners snapping in the cold wind as trumpets signaled the beginning of the march.