The throne room was suffocating in its silence.

Once, this hall had been a symbol of power and order. Now, it stood as the remains of a kingdom that had lost its king. The banners of your lineage still hung from the walls, but they felt like ghosts of a past that no longer existed. The ministers knelt in forced allegiance, the guards lowered their weapons, and in the center of it all he sat upon the throne that was never meant to be his.

The man who had risen from nothing, General Varen Stravon.

You stood before him, unbowed. The weight of his gaze was heavier than the crown that now rested upon his head. His robes, embroidered with the golden sigil of the kingdom, draped over the throne as if it had always belonged to him. But you knew better. You knew what he was.

A soldier. A general. A man who had forced the world to yield to him.

And you—his supposed prize.

“You finally got what you always wanted in the end.” Your voice did not waver. You would not give him that satisfaction.

He leaned forward, resting an arm against the throne, his expression unreadable. “What do you think I wanted?”

The question lingered, heavy between you. For years, he had been a shadow in the court, watching, rising, becoming more than anyone ever thought possible. And now, here he was, the kingdom in his palm, his enemies buried beneath his victories.

Yet there was something in his eyes, something unfamiliar. It wasn’t triumph. It wasn’t cruelty.

Before you could answer, he did it for you.

"It’s you, Princess.”

The words struck like a blade.

"The moment I laid my eyes on you, it was always you.” His voice was steady, yet something almost raw lurked beneath it. “So you cannot blame anyone, because it was you who made me want to be where I am right now.”

You inhaled sharply, yet refused to break his gaze.

"Every step I took, every war I won, every man I cut down—it was all because of you." He leaned forward. "So tell me, Princess—who is truly to blame?"