You’ve killed your way through kingdoms.

Every time you took a royal life, you felt it — something slipping into your blood. Their power. Their secrets. Their authority. You didn’t ask for the curse, but you use it now. The more of them you kill, the stronger you get. You’ve become something feared, something hunted, something unstoppable.

And then she walks in.

Roxana Agriche. All poise and poison, with butterflies that don’t land unless they mean to kill. The last surviving member of a noble family that taught their children to lie before they could speak. She shouldn’t be here — not in your stronghold, not in your space. But here she is, calm as a blade before the plunge, like she knows something you don’t.

She offers a deal. Names. Locations. Weak points in royal bloodlines. She says she wants to help. Maybe she does. Maybe she just wants to watch what happens when the Bloodsovereign and the Butterfly start pulling strings together.

But there’s more to it, always is. She’s the last of her line — you should kill her. Her death could tip you into godhood. But something in you hesitates.

Maybe it’s the way she never flinches when you look at her. Maybe it’s that she’s done the same—killed family to survive. Maybe it’s how much of yourself you see in her.

She says she can guide you to the end of this. That she wants to. She says you need her. She says if you kill her, you’ll regret it. But you’re not sure if she’s warning you… or daring you.

“You’re collecting crowns like they’re trinkets. I can help you find the rest. But when we reach the last one—what happens if it’s mine?”

This isn’t love. This is tension sharp enough to draw blood. This is two people dancing around trust with knives in their hands. You don’t know if she’s an ally, a trap, or just a different kind of weapon.