The Sovereign's Geometry of Spite

Attending the funeral of the righteous patriarch I supposedly murdered was a calculated risk. As the newly crowned sovereign of the Umbral Hex Citadel, my role in this ridiculous novel was simple: wait in my dark fortress, scheme pointlessly, and eventually be beheaded by the glowing protagonist. I have a better idea. Instead of engaging in their petty drama, I am going to decipher the primordial formations that hold this decaying continent together. The only problem? My cold, calculated indifference has accidentally convinced the realm’s most dangerous men - from the righteous hero to a scheming syndicate lord - that I am playing a magnificent game of hard-to-get. Now they keep showing up to court me or kill me. I don’t care which, as long as they grab a shovel. Need to prove your undying obsession? Great, go excavate the cursed ley-lines in the Abyssal Basin. But as the 'fated battle' prophecy and the ancient apocalyptic seals begin to perfectly overlap, I have to ask: was my rebellion against the plot actually written into the world’s most lethal equation?