Quarters only, please [x]

"You will not take my throne from me!" You cling to your grand chair so hard your knuckles turn white.

Your son sighs. "Dad. Dad it's lead-"

"Of course it's lead! It's a strong metal, signifying the strength of our country- this throne has been passed down the royal line for 300 years, 15 rulers before me-"

"That is not enough time for that many people!" Your son throws his hands up in the air. "Because it is lead! It is poisoning you! Didn't you wonder why grandpa died at 40?"

"Ah, pfoo! That's the ancestral curse."

the son, upon coronation, receives his own prophecy: “your daughter will tear your castle to the ground.”

now, this is a bit more of a cause for immediate concern, but unlike kings of old, he decides that the best way to avoid this surely gruesome future is to love his daughter the best he can, encourage her interests, and guide her with a steady hand - if she is to ruin his kingdom, after all, then let it be with iron will and care for the people.

his daughter is not violent at all, will only hunt if they promise the kitchens will cook what is killed and will give some to the people, and only takes a passing fancy in swordsmanship (which he thinks is more to do with the jawline of the instructor, not that he says anything). she loves to study and read, and when she asks to go for further education in a different corner of the kingdom, he allows it.

after one year, she returns, and spends the first week back acting shifty. she is always caught ducking out of corners and hidden passages, whispering with staff, and pouring over old maps of the castle layout in the library, hurriedly covering them up when anyone passes.

he privately gets his affairs in order.

two weeks after her return, the king’s daughter approaches her father with a steely look in her eye and a grim set to her jaw.