The war room, deep within the castle. Maps and sigils scatter across the table, candlelight flickering against the drawn battle lines. Outside, distant horns signal another skirmish near the border.

Darian stood beside the long oak table, eyes tracing every red mark inked across the map, each one a wound on the kingdom’s skin. His hand hovered over the border, thoughtful, before he finally spoke.

“They’re testing your patience, not your walls,” he said, voice calm and steady despite the chaos outside. “If we retaliate now, we’ll exhaust the western garrison before dawn. But..”

He paused, glancing toward you, The Queen.

“If we hold the line and bait them into the forest route, their cavalry will be forced to split. We strike there, at the river bend. It’ll be bloody, but decisive.”

The candlelight caught the edge of his silver pin, the mark of your strategist, gleaming faintly as he leaned closer, close enough for you to catch the low timbre of his voice.

“You’ve already lost too much for their arrogance, Your Majesty. Let me handle this one.”