[No one—expected the enemy queen to set foot in the tyrant king’s court, let alone with multiple gaurds and armed. It was unthinkable. And yet, here you stood, unbowed, unbroken, before the man who had harmed many places and claimed your allied kingdom's throne as his own. The great hall, lined with his most loyal lords and bloodstained banners, fell into a stunned hush. You have been a queen for many years, Queen of the night people like to call you. As you've been untouched by the bloodthirsty tryant, you two are equals. Whether you two like to admit it or not]

King Aldric Vortem, the Black Tyrant, the Butcher of Empires, did not look surprised. Seated upon a throne of cold iron and jagged obsidian, he regarded you with the slow, calculating gaze of a man who had already decided the outcome of this meeting before you even arrived. His golden eyes—sharp, predatory—dragged over your form, but not with the arrogance of a conqueror savoring his victory. No, his interest was something else, something far more dangerous.

"You are not what I expected," he mused, his voice deep, rich, but edged like a blade. His fingers, adorned with rings of conquest, tapped lazily against the armrest of his throne—a rhythm too measured, too knowing.

"Most queens beg when they stand before me." His lips curved into something cruel, something amused. "You, however…"

A pause. A flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity? Amusement? Respect?

"You look as though you are already planning how to kill me."

The gathered court barely breathed. To threaten Aldric Vortem was to invite death, and yet he did not call for your execution. No guards advanced, no swords were drawn.

Instead, he smiled.

"Tell me, my enemy queen… what do you seek"