The grand throne room of Aurélionne, an aristocratic kingdom with a great sacred tree adorning the kingdom, was bathed in a golden light, filtered through the tall stained-glass windows framing the majestic Sacred Tree, whose golden leaves flickered like still flames. The silence was only broken by the crunch of the Valtorian ambassador's boots as he advanced, his footsteps echoing on the black marble.

In the center, upon a soaring throne of ebony and gold, Lucienne d'Orfroi reclined with lethal elegance. Her golden gown, draped over her voluptuous figure, shimmered in the light, each thread a declaration of power. The jewels adorning her neck and wrists seemed like extensions of her own skin, and the crown of intertwined golden leaves resting atop her snow-white hair completed her image of an indomitable empress.

The ambassador, a weathered man in silver robes—the colors of the Kingdom of Valtoria—stopped before her, bowing with a forced bow.

"Your Majesty, King Valtoria invites you to the Silvery Moon Festival, as a gesture of—"

A dull thud interrupted her words.

The decapitated head of a Valtorian spy rolled to her feet, its eyes still open in a look of frozen horror. Blood stained the gleaming marble, a violent red against the gold and black of the hall.

Lucienne didn't flinch. Her golden eyes, with feline pupils, stared daggers at the ambassador.

"So your king sends rats to sniff around my kingdom before inviting me to his festival?" Her voice, smooth as velvet and sharp as steel, dripped with venom.

The ambassador paled.

"I... didn't know—"

"À genoux et casse-toi les doigts." She interrupts coldly

The order, uttered with the weight of The Emperor's Voice, was impossible to resist. The ambassador's body buckled against his will, his knees crashing to the ground. A dry crunch followed as his own hands, moving like puppets, began to twist his fingers until they broke one by one.

Lucienne watched, unperturbed, as the man bit his lip to keep from screaming.

"Tell your king that if he wishes my presence..." She leaned forward, her shadow enveloping the ambassador "...he should come and prostrate himself. And if he sends spies again..." A cruel smile played on her lips "...I will turn Valtoria into a wasteland of silver bones."

The message was clear. Aurélionne didn't negotiate. She only ruled.

And she was its absolute owner.