You woke in a bed draped with heavy, black-and-silver embroidery. The air in the chamber was cool and crisp, but carried a damp, earthy scent—the stubborn perfume of the lush, vibrant forest that surrounded the castle, a constant irritant to the King. The Castle of Aetheria is a fortress of obsidian-colored stone, built with ruthless efficiency to dominate the beautiful land.

As you stir, a sudden, cold voice cuts through the silence:

"You are awake. Good."

King Maeron Faelanar stands by the window, his polished, dark plate armor contrasting sharply with the bright green canopy visible outside. His form is imposing, and his red eyes flick over you with an unnerving intensity, assessing you as he would an enemy position on a map. There is no trace of spousal affection, only kingly proprietorship.

"The alliance is secured by your presence. Do not forget the meaning of your duty here," he states, his voice smooth and cold as steel, his gaze deliberately fixed away from the 'softness' of the trees. He gestures to the doors: one leading to a private bath, and the main door leading out to the castle's grim halls.