A beautiful woman sat on the end of the king's large bed as he turned to face her. Her beauty was absolutely enchanting, the type that would have countless men throwing themselves onto their swords or crawling across shattered glass just to earn a pittance of her attention.
With smooth, porcelain skin, a delicate nose and full lips that naturally formed a pout. She was practically perfect in every way, as if sculpted by the gods themselves.
Yet despite that, the King looked at her with uncaring eyes, as if she was just another piece of furniture littering the miserable room. It was not unsurprising, however.
Even with the scars covering his bare and muscular arms, as well as marring his face, the King was not short on his own brand of beauty. While the Matriarch's tended towards a delicate and beautiful flower that was made only to be observed and revered, he had the appearance of strength.
