Cursed Without A Crown

07 | Behind the Scenes I; The Infamous Letter

IN THE KING'S SOLAR

YES, STILL IN ORODEN

That night, King Drokah Rhakys of Oroden inwardly seethed as his companion, King Rhys Banian of Drakonwell, babbled on and on about how his wife wasn't fulfilling him in the bedding department.

It was times like these that made him grateful he was widowed.

"It is as simple as riding a horse," King Rhys began to explain, even though Drokah hadn't expressed any interest in the topic. "I say bend, you bend. I say shift right, you shift to the bloody right. Even the Supreme sympathises with me regarding my wife. She is dreadfully cold, unmoving, and such a bore in the—"

"I am not in the mood for lewd complaints about your wife, Banian," Drokah cut him off and leaned forward in his seat, both hands folded on the tabletop, his patience wearing thin.

"Where is the letter?"

Rhys opened his mouth to answer, but it seemed the words were having a difficult time escaping from his mouth.

"Well, let us not be hasty, Rhakys." He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his gold-embroidered coat as his nerves appeared to eat at him. "At least grant me the courtesy of ending my statement first."

In response to that, Drokah's menacing growl reverberated throughout the small room. His solar was not quite as big as one would imagine for a kingdom such as Oroden—because he hardly entertained others in his private space—but it was soundproof enough to contain classified conversations and little noises from alerting the guards or any eavesdropper.

But that did little to dampen the wizard's temper.

Suddenly in dire need of a drink, he pushed away from the trestle table and strode to where the decanters were perched. Grabbing one, he didn't pause for a moment as he quickly poured some of its contents into a wine glass and consumed it in one gulp, revelling in the feel of the liquid warming his insides.

With a hand at his side and the other still holding on to the empty glass, King Drokah watched the other king try to hide his discomfort, pulling at his neck button every now and then. For a dragonlord, one of the most powerful magic bearers in all of Gregon's Land, King Rhys was the exact opposite of what one would expect.

His appearance, however, spoke of character. His stylishly trimmed ginger-coloured beard and equally groomed hair proved his royal lineage, as well as the expensive coat he wore on top of his royal vest. His mark matched the colour of the ocean, a thin crescent-shaped scar just on the right side of his right brow, very much unlike his daughter's horrifying one.

It was such a shame that his mild good looks didn't suit the coward that lay beneath.

In contrast, Drokah's hair was a startling silver with accompanying eyes of similar hue, and he preferred it to fall on his shoulders as it made him look younger than he actually was. His olive complexion was a clear distinction from the other king's fair one, and his mark, which was a striking lime green, crawled beneath his left eye, comparable to the upward curve of one's lips.

To say he was handsome would be an understatement.

The King of Oroden was exceptionally beautiful, and he was well aware of that.

After the wine had managed to calm him a little, Drokah slowly walked around the furnished table to stand behind Rhys, brandishing his presence in a manner in which he knew would certainly intimidate the older magic bearer. So it came as no surprise when he felt Rhys' edginess before he saw the sweat gliding behind his left ear despite the room being reasonably cold that night.