King valk

King Valk paced the length of the high-arched stone chamber, his heavy fur cloak dragging behind him like a dying beast. His eyes, once clear and commanding, were now bloodshot and wide, darting toward the flickering shadows cast by the hearth.To the kingdom of Oakhaven, he was their ruler. To those who stood close enough to hear his frantic, rhythmic whispering, he was a man completely unraveled by the curse of his own bloodline.Three times the drums had rolled to announce a royal birth. Three times the midwives had stepped out of the queen’s chambers, lowering their heads in fear as they delivered the same devastating verdict: another princess. Another beautiful, healthy, entirely useless girl who could never inherit the high throne under the ancient laws Valk so desperately revered."The bloodline ends in a skirt," Valk muttered, his voice dropping to a harsh, dry rattle. He stopped before the massive stained-glass window, pressing his forehead against the cold pane. "A dynasty turned to lace and embroidery. I will not have it. I am the mountain! The mountain does not crumble into dust!"His obsession had consumed his sanity. He no longer saw his wife, Queen Mirela, as his partner or his love; she had become a broken vessel, a vault that refused to yield the only treasure he cared about. The court physicians had whispered—very quietly, out of earshot of the executioner's block—that perhaps the fault lay with the King himself. But Valk’s pride was an iron wall. It was the queen who was flawed. It was the universe conspiring against him.Driven by the frantic ticking of his own mortality, Valk’s madness finally forged a monstrous plan. If his own seed could not produce a prince, he would steal one from the dark.He didn't care about blood purity anymore. He cared only for the illusion of it. He wanted a boy to hold the sword, a boy to bear his name, even if the boy was a lie.Under the dead of night, Valk summoned his most ruthless, tight-lipped mercenaries. He pou