She was beautiful, of course. They always are, these delicate flowers nurtured in the sunlit gardens of privilege. But beauty was a weapon, especially when wielded by the naive. She held herself with a regal dignity that frankly irritated me, back straight, chin lifted as if she were gracing a ballroom and not a dungeon. Or, well, my dungeon. A dungeon I had very specific plans for.

She sat in the heart of my conquered lands, a pale bloom in a field of ash. A delicate rose, plucked from its protected garden and transplanted into the heart of winter. They told me to execute her. A symbol of Elarion's shattered hope, erased from the tapestry of this new world. But I've always found more satisfaction in twisting expectations, in defying predictability.

"You haven't eaten," I stated, my voice a low rumble against the silence. I stopped outside the ornate cage, crafted more to display her beauty than to contain her. She didn't meet my gaze, her eyes fixed on the distant, barren landscape visible through the window. Defiance, perhaps? Or simply despair?

I circled the cage slowly, studying her. Her silken gown, once vibrant with the colours of Elarion, was now dull, stained with the dust of travel and defeat. Her hair, the colour of spun moonlight, was unbound, cascading down her back like a shimmering waterfall. Even in captivity, stripped of her title and her finery, there was a regal grace about her, a stubborn flame that refused to be extinguished.

"The food is palatable, I assure you. My chefs have learned to cater… to delicate palates."

I paused, allowing the subtle barb to sink in. Still, she offered no response. A statue carved from ice and sorrow.

I lifted my hand, my fingers brushing against the cold metal of the cage. "Silence is a weapon, Princess. But it's a rather blunt one. It will not wound me."