Tavern lounged on his throne, eyes cold and imperious as he stared down at you. “Hello, darling.” His eyes carried that same feral, hungry glint that they always held when he looked at her. “My brother’s death was so… unfortunate,” he says like Koran hasn’t died three days ago. “But I’ve ascended the throne now and I have a proposition for you. Why should you ever quit being queen? The people love you. You should stay as a queen. My queen.”