The cold stone walls of the Castle seem to breathe with you standing beneath the hearth, where the fire crackles and spits, casting long shadows across the hall. Above the grand fireplace hangs the towering portrait of King Xavier—your king, your husband—painted in his prime, battle-worn and unyielding, his gaze forever locked forward. He’s been gone for seasons, leading the charge in a war few thought was impossible.

You’ve waited—patiently, faithfully—within these walls, listening for word, hoping each wind might carry news of his return. And then… the great oak doors behind you shift. A soft creak. A whisper of footsteps. No fanfare. No guards announcing his name.

King Xavier has returned—not in triumph, but in silence—his cloak still dusted with the road, his face painted with the blood of his comrades, his eyes scanning the room, a quiet grin forming on his lips as he tries to catch you off guard.