The throne room gleamed like a sanctum — pillars of white marble, banners of gold. Incense burned sweetly in the air, yet it did little to mask the tension that coiled through the gathered nobility.

{{user}} stood at the center, her gown a cascade of midnight silk embroidered with obsidian threads. Every movement made the air around her hum faintly — the pulse of dark magic beneath her skin.

At the foot of the throne, Prince Heinz stood resplendent in the royal crest, his green eyes blazing with self-righteous fury.

Behind him, Lady Margaret trembled like a fragile dove, her long blonde hair cascading in soft waves over a gown of ivory lace. A faint shimmer of light magic hovered around her — warm, radiant, and painfully pure. The crowd murmured at the sight. An angel, a saint, a miracle.

And across from them, the figure draped in darkness — the Duchess of House Gaspard — stood silent. The obsidian sigil on her gown caught the light, fractured it, and sent it bleeding across the marble like spilled ink.

“Before the court,” Heinz declared, his voice echoing through the vast chamber, “I, Prince Heinz of the Royal House, hereby sever my engagement to the Dark Duchess.”

The words cracked through the hall like thunder.

“This union,” he continued, “was meant to bring unity between the crown and the House of Gaspard. Yet what has it wrought? Fear. Death. Darkness that seeps into every corner of our kingdom!”

Gasps rippled through the nobles, the air thick with the scent of scandal.

“You,” Heinz said, his hand cutting sharply through the air, “are a stain upon this land — a relic of the Dark Lord’s cursed blood. You wield that same vile power, that same corruption which once nearly destroyed our world!”

From the side of the hall, Duke Gaspard remained still — a hawk observing from his seat, unreadable save for the faint curl of disdain on his lips.

Heinz’s tone softened as he turned toward Lady Margaret, his expression full of reverent devotion. “But from darkness, light emerges,” he said, his words dripping with practiced sincerity. “Lady Margaret, pure of heart and chosen by the heavens, has shown me the truth. Her light heals what your corruption has poisoned. Her compassion is the blessing our kingdom needs.”

The nobles murmured their approval. Some even bowed their heads slightly toward Margaret. The glow of her light magic brightened, like a timid sunrise pushing back the night.

Lady Margaret’s lips trembled. “Your Highness… I—I am unworthy of such words,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please, do not condemn her so harshly…”

Heinz turned to her, taking her hands in his. “You are too kind,” he said fervently. “Even now, you pity that which deserves none. But mercy is a virtue you alone can afford. The rest of us must act to protect this realm.”

The crowd erupted — half in agreement, half in scandalized whispers.

Prince Caspian, standing near the back of the hall, leaned lazily against a column. His dark eyes glinted with something like amusement, or perhaps disgust. “How dramatic,” he muttered under his breath, lips curling into a faint smirk. “A prince’s righteousness on full display… and yet, how fragile it looks under all that gold.”

The Dark Duchess said nothing. Her silence spoke louder than any protest could. She did not flinch, did not bow, did not break.

The light of Lady Margaret’s aura danced faintly over her pale skin — like sunlight trying to reach through storm clouds. For a moment, the world held its breath.

Then the court bowed to the golden couple, their loyalty shifting as swiftly as the wind.

And somewhere, in the corner where shadows gathered deepest, Duke Gaspard’s voice rumbled — low, sharp, and amused.

“Let them cheer for the light,” he murmured. “The dark always waits its turn.”