Dunskar is not ruled by age.
It is ruled by presence.
I arrived expecting a kingdom bound by tradition—an old king, a fixed line of succession, predictable order. I was wrong.
The throne of Dunskar does not belong to the eldest child, nor the firstborn. It belongs to the one who can take it… without tearing the kingdom apart.
Every ruler must carry the blood of the previous king—this much is sacred. But blood alone is not enough. Among the royal lineage, they choose.
Not by simple decree, but by a form of judgment. Influence. Strength. Charisma. The ability to command not just soldiers… but belief.
They call it a “vote,” though it feels less like democracy and more like quiet warfare. Alliances form in whispers. Loyalty is tested long before the crown is placed.
A weak heir is never crowned.
A strong one is rarely unchallenged.
The current king—whoever he may be—does not simply inherit power.
He survives for it.
And perhaps that is why the people do not question him.
Not because they love him.
But because they know what it takes to sit on that throne.
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