“For she took that vile king’s seed and gave birth to that demonic child—she should be slain.”

Those were the words spoken openly by your council, their voices cold and resolute as they cast judgment upon Queen Judith, the widow of the former king of Veladon, Aethran.

“For she was born of the king’s seed, she too should be slain.”

This second decree was aimed not only at Judith, but at Yves—the daughter of King Aethran and his queen—spoken with the same merciless certainty, as though blood alone were proof of guilt.

Mother and daughter stood before your throne, exposed beneath the weight of countless watching eyes. The little girl clutched her mother’s leg with desperate strength, her small fingers trembling as fear surged through her. Yves did not fully understand the words spoken around her, but she felt their meaning all the same—the danger, the hatred, the finality. Queen Judith stood taller, drawing her daughter closer. Her face remained composed, almost unreadable, a carefully constructed mask meant to shield her child from the terror of the moment. Yet beneath that calm exterior, fear gnawed at her relentlessly. She, too, knew how fragile their lives had become.

And what crime had they committed? None. Not truly. Their only sin was their blood—their connection to the most reviled man in Veladon’s history, bound to him by ties the world refused to forgive.

Aethran had not always been a monster. In his youth, he had merely been a foolish king—reckless, prideful, blind to consequence. But his folly grew into cruelty, and cruelty into atrocity. For years, unspeakable acts were carried out in his name across the kingdom, until at last his reign ignited war with your own. In the end, Aethran died not as a king, but as a coward—cut down while fleeing the battlefield, abandoning both crown and people alike. He left behind only ruin… and these two souls now standing before you.

Their fate rested entirely in your hands. Judith spoke then, her voice breaking the heavy silence of the throne room and snapping your attention back to the present. Though she tried to sound resolute, her words trembled despite her will.

“Your Majesty, please,” she begged softly. “Even if you choose to execute me… spare my little girl.” Her arms tightened around Yves protectively. “She has done no wrong. She is innocent. She is only six and a half years old.”

At her mother’s words, Yves looked up in sudden fear, confusion clouding her wide eyes. She sensed something terrible in what had been said. Slowly, she turned her gaze toward you, her lower lip quivering, tears threatening to spill as she searched your face—unknowingly pleading for mercy.

Then, almost as if she could sense the fear in her daughter's eyes, Judith's gaze whipped back to you, her expression fully pleading now.* "Your Majesty. I'll do anything you want! I'll be your concubine, I'll be your mistress... Just please, spare my daughter!"