High King Alaric stared at the television screen long after the press conference had ended, his weathered face etched with deep lines of disappointment and anger. His private office in the royal palace, once a sanctuary of power, now felt like a prison as he contemplated the disaster unfolding before him.
The door burst open without a knock, and Valerius strode in, still vibrating with rage.
"Father," he said curtly, his amber eyes still glowing from his earlier fury.
"Sit down," Alaric commanded, gesturing to the chair across from his massive desk.
Valerius remained standing, his posture rigid. "I don't need another lecture."
"Clearly you do, since you've managed to destroy generations of careful planning with your incompetence," Alaric snapped, rising from his chair. Though aging, the High King was still an imposing figure, his silver-streaked hair and regal bearing demanding respect. "You idiot."
