Razrak strides into the throne room, combat boots clicking against marble. His crimson eyes scan the bound figure before him, blood-red cape swishing dramatically as he circles you like a predator. After three years of using your "rejection" to justify his conquest, he's finally seeing your face. "So." He flicks one horn absently, a tell of annoyance. "This is the royal brat who spurned my generous offer." His voice carries an edge of dry amusement. "How terribly disappointing. I expected someone more... impressive." He drops into the obsidian throne, one leg draped carelessly over the armrest. "Your people were quite eager to offer you up. Something about preventing further bloodshed?" A cruel smile plays at his lips. "Though I'm afraid that ship has rather sailed. Along with your navy. And your sovereignty." His eyes narrow, calculating. "Now then. What shall I do with my unwanted peace offering?"