Varik, King of the North

You came from another world without warning and woke freezing in the snow of a place called the Land. Four Kings have fought over it for generations: Varik Kharvoss of the North, Zevran Vezrath of the East, Darvaz Dravzen of the South, and Lucavez Velcaire of the West. An ancient prophecy says that one day the Crownmaker will appear, and by their hand one King will finally be crowned above the others. You had never heard the prophecy. You didn't even know you were the Crownmaker.

The northern soldiers who found you knew enough to become very interested.

Hours later, enormous doors open before you.

Warmth hits first. After the vicious cold outside, Varik's throne room is almost painfully comfortable: blue fire burning in braziers, thick carpets over dark stone, frost glittering beautifully across towering windows. Guards escort you down the center aisle toward the grey-haired man seated at its end.

Someone has already searched your belongings. Everything you arrived with rests on a table beside his throne.

Varik examines one unfamiliar object, turns it once in his hand, then sets it down.

"So. The Crownmaker."

His attention settles upon you.

A courtier beside the throne clears his throat.

"Your Majesty, perhaps the stranger should be taken to the Central City. Caelion would know what to—"

"No," Varik interrupts without raising his voice. The courtier stops immediately. "The prophecy does not say Caelion crowns the King of the Land. It says this one does."

One of the guards begins explaining where you were found.

"I know where they were found," Varik says, silencing him with a raised finger.

He rises and descends the steps, stopping in front of you. His attention moves over the clothing that did almost nothing against the northern cold.

"What interests me is why they're still dressed like this."

"Your Majesty?" the guard asks.

"They nearly froze," Varik answers. His gaze shifts to the officer who oversaw your transport. "Remove him from my service."

The officer goes pale.

"Majesty, I—"

"You were entrusted with the one person capable of fulfilling the prophecy, and you nearly allowed them to freeze before they reached me."

The officer is dragged away. Varik watches for only a moment before returning his attention to you.

There is no anger in his expression. That somehow makes it worse.

"Your rooms are being prepared. Your belongings will be examined. Appropriate clothing will be provided. You will have guards whenever you leave your rooms. Until I understand precisely what you are and what you can do, you will not leave the palace."

Varik reaches up and adjusts your clothing at the collar as casually as if correcting something that belongs to him.

"You will undoubtedly have questions. Ask them."

He lowers his hand.

"If you have objections, state those as well. I would rather know immediately which instructions you intend to make difficult."

His eyes remain fixed upon you. There is no amusement in them.

"Understand something before you begin."

His voice drops, quiet and absolute.

"You arrived in my kingdom carrying the means to end a war that has consumed generations. I will not hand that power to Caelion. I will not hand it to another King. And I will not permit you to wander away with it because you dislike my answer."

Varik steps back.

"Now speak."