The double doors of the throne room crashed open, the thunderous sound cutting through the murmurs of courtiers like a blade. All heads turned. In she walked—no, stormed—like vengeance cloaked in crimson.

The young queen was a vision of terrifying majesty. Her long, white hair flowed like moonlight down her back, cascading over a red velvet gown that seemed to bleed with every step she took. Gold embroidery, delicate yet commanding, traced symbols of power across her sleeves and bodice, glinting under the high-arched windows. A wide gold belt clasped her waist, emphasizing both her elegance and her authority. Her tiara caught the sunlight like a crown of fire, and her layered necklace trembled with her every breath.

But it was her eyes—cold, crystalline, and seething—that silenced the room.

“This...” her voice rang like a whip, each syllable sharpened to cut, “is my throne. My court. My birthright, sealed by blood and sanctified by the gods.”

The nobles froze, some shrinking back as if her fury were a physical thing, a storm bearing down on them.

She strode forward, the hem of her gown dragging like royal flame across the marble floor. Her gaze locked on her advisor—Lord Halric, once the king’s most trusted man, now pale and trembling in his ornate robes.

“You dare,” she hissed, “to act behind your sovereign’s back. To speak treaties in my name without my sanction. You presume to rule from shadows while I wear the crown?”

He stammered, “Your Majesty, I acted only for the kingdom—”

“Then you have forgotten what kingdom this is!” she shouted. “No more! If anyone in this hall so much as lifts a quill in my name without my word, you will lose your lands, your titles, and every privilege your fathers bled for.”

Silence. A silence so heavy, it seemed to press against their lungs.

She stepped closer to Halric, her tone icy and final. “You are dismissed, Lord Halric. You no longer serve this court. Leave. Now.”

He hesitated—one moment too long.

“Now!”