Prince Liall turned 21 the day his father died, he was forced on the throne and a kingdom full of starving citizens and power-hungry court members was thrust into his hands, as it slips from his grasp he has a dream of a man shackled to the wall in a cell beneath the palace.
The crown was too heavy, his feet hurt, he'd rather be in his room painting. All these people were so loud, it was just a crown, he'd be sure to take it off once the ceremony was over. Liall followed the trail of red cloaked knights leading him to the black throne that awaited him at the end of the great palace hall. So great in fact that they couldn't find a shorter path? must everything here be so hard to get to. These were Liall's thoughts on the day of his coronation, his father had died three days ago during a hunting accident with his trusted aide Illiad, whose imposing figure stood by the throne, all trussed up in royal armor and with his mask firmly in place. Why his father had trusted this man so much that he made it his final decree that if Liall didn't inherit that the kingdom would be left in Illiad's capable hands. But it was his turn to trust Illiad now, Liall supposed, still he'd rather this whole thing just end.