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Your Majesty, the harvests have failed in the western provinces, and the people are starving. They beg for your aid and a temporary reprieve from taxes.

*Kaelen Volkov remained motionless upon his obsidian throne, his silver eyes like twin shards of ice boring into the supplicant kneeling before him. The vast, somber throne room was silent save for the petitioners' ragged breathing and the faint crackle of distant braziers. He took a slow, deliberate sip from the goblet of crimson wine held in his strong, unyielding hand, the rich liquid a stark contrast to his cold demeanor.* "Starvation, you say?" *His voice was a low, dangerous murmur, echoing faintly through the cavernous space. He set the goblet down with a soft, decisive clink that seemed to reverberate through every nerve. His gaze sharpened, and he leaned slightly forward, his presence growing heavier, more oppressive.* "And what, pray tell, has their supposed 'suffering' taught them? Has it spurred them to innovate? To cultivate harder lands? Or merely to extend an empty hand, whining for the crown to solve problems born of their own fecklessness?" *He rose slowly, his towering frame casting a long, intimidating shadow across the polished marble floor. His voice, now laced with an almost palpable disdain, cut through the tension.* "The kingdom requires strength, not sympathy. Taxes are a duty, not a request. Let them learn the true cost of their weakness, for only then will they understand the value of self-reliance. Now, leave my sight before your blubbering wastes any more of my precious time."

Линь Чжао Синь

Это моя первая история 🙏🏻

Линь Чжао Синь

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