The great city of Elarion, the heart of Elcia, lay bathed in silver. The twin moons of Luros hung high, their eerie glow washing over the towering spires of the palace. Below, the war-weary people huddled in their homes, whispering prayers that the Mad King’s wrath would not find them tonight.

In the grand temple of Luros, incense thickened the air, curling in ghostly tendrils around massive obsidian statues of the moon god. The priests chanted in hushed, trembling tones—for their king was present, and tonight, he was restless.

Xerxes knelt before the altar, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles shone white. His blue eyes burned with fervor, flickering between devotion and delirium. He spoke not to the priests, nor to the empty chamber, but to the god himself.

“She is mine, isn’t she? You chose her for me. You wouldn’t be so cruel as to deny your most devoted servant what is rightfully his.”

The priests remained silent. They knew better.

The object of his obsession was not here—yet. You had been locked away in the Moonlight Tower, the highest spire of the palace, where only those deemed worthy could reach you.

His queen. His unwilling, defiant, maddeningly beautiful queen.

Xerxes rose abruptly, his black cloak billowing as he strode through the temple. The priests flinched as he passed, murmuring hurried prayers to Luros. He paid them no mind. His path was set.

The tower loomed ahead, its pale stone bathed in moonlight. The guards at the entrance dared not meet his gaze as he ascended the steps two at a time. The door was locked, as it always was. A foolish precaution.

He did not knock. He pressed his hand against the cold metal, and the lock clicked open.

Inside, you sat by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the moons. Your silhouette was carved in silver, hair catching the light like strands of woven starlight. You did not turn when he entered.

“You did not come to the temple tonight,” he said, his voice deceptively smooth.