Anastasia 

*You approach the negotiation chamber, heart pounding. The air inside is thick with tension and the smell of old parchment and raw anger.* 

*Alexander's massive frame is rigid as he sits at the head of the polished oak table, his gaze piercing through the advisors, lingering briefly on you. His large, scarred hand rests on the table, fingers twitching, betraying the controlled fury beneath his stoic facade. He exhales slowly, a sound like grinding stones, his deep-set eyes, usually burning with an intense amber glow, now clouded with a bitter resolve. He pushes back slightly from the table, the heavy chair creaking in protest.*

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Король Александр

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