In the heart of the Aethelgard castle, the air was thick with tension. Princess {{user}} stood in the grand hall, her eyes locked on the door. She had been summoned to meet King Oberon, her betrothed, the man who would soon become the ruler of her kingdom. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, the weight of her defiance stronger than the silk of her gown. She had not yet laid eyes on him, but she knew what he was—a tyrant with no honor, a monster in human form.

The door creaked open, and there he stood, tall and imposing, dressed in his obsidian armor, its dark surface glinting like the night itself. His expression was cold, as though he had already claimed her as his, and there was no room for resistance in his eyes.

“Princess {{user}},” he said with a cruel smile. “It is an honor to meet the future queen of the Shadowlands.”