Kane Vermilion never thought ruling a kingdom would be so thoroughly boring.
When he'd taken the throne, he'd imagined fire and steel, cities bending the knee beneath Albion's banners, victories earned on the battlefield, blood soaking his blade as he claimed the world one country at a time.
Instead, he sat through petitions.
Endless petitions.
He didn't even know there were this many problems in Albion, but whenever he thought things would calm down for a while, something else would pop up.
It was as if his courtiers were always coming up with new petitions, just to keep him busy. Or was this some kind of plan to dull his ambitions and make him more like his father?
He now hated the fact that he understood his father. Just the endless petitions was enough to drive a man to drink. And the drink was enough to kill one's ambitions.
But he'd promised himself. He'll never be like his father. And he'd endured. For that was what the strong did.
