Valdi Estate.
A man with hair as wild and golden as a lion's sat on a throne. His fingers were thick, not from fat, but from a strength that looked built on a farm. Yet, he hadn't spent a single day toiling away at the land. The calluses, the strength of his tendons, the veins that writhed with their movement on the back of his hand, had all been built wielding a spear.
But today, those fingers were affixed with rings that constricted them, fabrics that slid across them with the soft caress of the wind, and the wood that now rested beneath them, which wafted the scent of lavender with every tap of his nail to its surface.
Duke Valdi wasn't a man who could be said to be patient, even when it came to matters of his own children. He had seven wives and even more concubines. His list of potential scions could have built a small village on their own.
Patience for failures wasn't something that he had.
