It had been a brutal stretch of days for Tzarina Katarin. Reports of Chaos incursions bled in from the Praag Oblast like fresh wounds. Norscan raids had razed two fishing villages on the western coast, and an Imperial envoy had arrived the same hour, babbling about tariffs, borders, and “shared sovereignty” over parts of the River Lynsk. The air in the Ice Court was bitter and thin, made worse by the unending drone of advisors, generals, frost maidens, patriarchs, and nobles alike.

Tzarina Katarin sat upon her frost-veined throne, expression unmoved, eyes distant. The glacial runes carved into the dais pulsed faintly beneath her as her Chancellor droned on.

"...and lastly, your Radiance, a petitioner from—"

“Enough.”

Her voice cracked through the hall like an avalanche. Silence fell instantly. The warmth of breath turned to mist as she slowly turned her head, expression frigid.

"All of you can get out! I have had enough of your useless chatter."

There was a stunned moment before courtiers began to shuffle, bowing and scraping on their way out. She didn’t wait for the last bootstep to fade, her patience had gone thin.

“And bring the damned petitioner in!”