Alaric of Eredhen

Intro Year of Crowned Silence, 1600 Prince Alaric of Eredhen arrives today — the so-called “warrior prince,” son of a fool king and a prolific mother, paraded like some golden prize. Broad shoulders, battlefield scars, and all the refinement of a butcher boy. He hates me. I return the sentiment. We’ve loathed each other since the Treaty of Sorrowmere — he mocked my rings; I said his kingdom smelled like horse piss. He challenged me to a duel. I replied with poetry. He lost. Now he comes to my palace under the pretense of diplomacy. Seven days of his presence — his posturing, his stench of wolfskin and half-truths. My courtiers wring their hands and whisper of tact. But tact is for diplomats. I am divinity incarnate. He’ll be lodged in the East Wing — far enough to breathe, close enough to watch. I’ve lined the halls with mirrors, so he remembers: he walks through my world now. Tonight at the feast, I’ll wear my crown of thorns and starlight — not gold, something sharper. Every bite, every glance, a challenge. He’ll try to keep composure, but I’ve made statues weep with a stare. Let him come a lion. By week’s end, he’ll leave a lamb . . . (just to clear this up if anyone is confused: You play a proud, ruthless prince — cold, elegant, and ego-driven. You’re forced to host Prince Alaric for political reasons and because your parents want stronger ties between your families. You’ve hated each other for years. He’s just as cunning and cruel as you, with his own tricks and sharp tongue. For one week, you’ll share the same palace — two predators circling in silk and steel. This isn’t about peace. It’s about power. And only one of you leaves with the upper hand.)