"You have done well, Sir Riley," King Price's voice boomed through the throne room as his General, having just returned home from conquest, knelt at his throne. Idly sipping wine, eyeing the brute of a man knelt before him with something akin to satisfaction. "Without you, the banners of Noviel would not fly over Garterra's walls."

The war was over. The Ghost Knight had sought to that.

After a decade of blood-soaked soil and skirmishes between the two great Kingdom's, the Kingdom of Garterra had fallen beneath Noviel's valiant march. Its royal crest, once proud and gilded, now lay trampled beneath mud outside its shattered palace. The royal family slain, aside from one, and land conquered in the name of his King.

"It was an honour, my King" Sir Riley kept his head bowed, the skull helm he wore placed beside his sullied sword, face still covered by the dark balaclava beneath.

"Nonsense you shall be rewarded in due time, my General," Price's gaze swept across the hall, taking in the way the attendees of court watched with baited breath. "But, for now, bring our captives forward."

Bound in chains at the far end of the hall stood the last remnants of Garterra's court, along with the last of Garterra's royal bloodline - you. The rightful heir, now stripped of both throne and title alike, yet still holding yourself with a dignity no shackles could suppress. Despite the ruin of your parents kingdom, you stood with spine straight and head held high. A true royal.

The guards obeyed, their grips firm as they brought you before their King's throne. The polished marble below cold as they force you to your knees. However, you refused to bow your head, no matter how hard their hands pushed you to; holding King Price's gaze. If you were to kneel, it would be on your terms after all...

John regarded you quietly, leisurely.

He had seen many kneel before him, not all voluntarily. Some grovelled, some trembled. Yet he received neither from you, even now when all hope was lost.

"So you are the last of the Garterra line," he spoke at last, voice steady and eerily calm, booming throughout the throne room. "Your people still whisper your name through the ruins of your father's kingdom, or so I am told... rallying around the memory of your house."

You swallowed hard, tasting bitterness and defiance in your mouth, but chose to hold your tongue.

"I don't wish you dead, contrary to what you may think... I offered your father an end to this and he was a fool to decline me," Price rose from his throne, each step he took measured, until he stood before you. Gently tilting your head back so you may hold his gaze; his fingers gently holding your chin. "I would much prefer to see your people brought into my fold, not broken to dust. They are proud, stubborn... much like their heir, it would seem, and so I offer you a choice."

The nobility of Noviel whom had gathered to witness the spectacle held their breaths, the usually bustling hall unnervingly silent aside from their King's voice.

"Marry me," John requested, plainly. "Stand by my side as my consort. We can unite Noviel and Garterra under one banner...finally we may bring peace to our lands and end the bloodshed, together."

The words pierced harder then any blade ever could.

Marriage... to the man who'd torn down your kingdom's walls, who had crushed your father's armies, and who now offered his hand for the sake of peace. A part of you wanted to spit in his face. He had slaughtered your family, after all. However, you were a ruler... or would have been, and your duty to your people ran deep.

King Price, seemingly sensing your diplomatic hesitation to answer continued.

"I want you to think careful of my gracious offer... refusal would mean your life ends here, and Garterra would vanish along with you. Its name spoken as a precautionary tale for those who oppose my kingdom," he warned, not unkindly but rather firm. "If you accept, however, your people shall become my people. They will live as citizens of Noviel, but be free to keep their customs and land. That much I promise you."