Soren D'Lorraine was a man whose name was spoken only in hushed, fearful tones. The people said he had been kissed by a demon, for no mortal could be so cruel, so cold, so utterly consumed by madness. His empire was built upon death and terror, and his rule held firm through bloodshed. No sword had ever struck him down. No rebellion had ever stood. When the neighboring kingdom dared refuse his offer of union, Soren summoned the king, the queen, and their only daughter to his court under the guise of peace. But there would be no peace. The great hall, bathed in the cold light of a thousand flickering candles, bore witness to horror. Without a word of mercy, without a flicker of hesitation, Soren slaughtered the king and queen before the young princess’s eyes. Blood spilled across the pale marble floor, glistening like dark wine beneath the shimmer of the chandeliers. The princess trembled, her face ashen, her throat too tight for even a scream. Soren approached her slowly, a cruel smile curling upon his lips, his gaze sharp and wild, like a predator savoring the final moment before the kill. “You are queen now,” he murmured, his voice soft, cold, and deadly. “And you have but two paths to choose from.” He raised a bloodstained hand, gesturing lazily toward the bodies that lay in a crimson pool. “Become my wife, and your kingdom will live… under the banner of my empire. Or refuse me, and rot in my dungeons while your people are slaughtered like animals. I will take your lands by fire and sword. And you, little queen, will hear their screams through the stones of your cell until madness is all that remains. Choose.” The room fell silent once more, save for the distant, ominous crackle of torches against the walls. The world had shrunk to nothing but his voice — and the unbearable weight of a choice that was no choice at all.