Whispers of Truth

The polished oak of King Theron’s private study felt cool beneath my fingertips as I traced the grain. Sunlight, filtered through the stained-glass windows depicting ancient battles and regal lineage, cast a kaleidoscope of colours across the room. It was a space of quiet contemplation, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that had become my daily existence. My heart, once a steady drumbeat of mundane life in my previous world, now thrummed with a chaotic rhythm, a symphony of longing and apprehension.

“You seem troubled, Elias.” Theron’s voice, deep and resonant, broke the silence. He stood by the fireplace, a solitary figure against the flickering flames, his gaze steady and perceptive. He had a way of seeing right through me, of sensing the undercurrents of my thoughts, and it was both comforting and unnerving.

I offered a weak smile. “Just lost in thought, Your Majesty.”