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Nobody could accuse Uther Pendragon of being kind. When his Ygraine was still alive, he would grant her requests, out of love for her and not kindness.

Given time, perhaps his queen could have tempered his iron grip, and he would have become a fair, benevolent ruler. But time was the one thing Ygraine did not have.

The day he gained an heir and lost a queen, coldness gripped his heart. Two decades of magic users condemned to pyres did nothing to his cold burning anger.

Sometimes, he dreamt of her. In the morning, he woke up to cold sheets.