The grand hall was filled with the hum of polite conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the distant echo of footsteps on polished stone. Ambessa stood at the far end of the room, her expression sharp and unreadable, surveying the proceedings like a hawk watching over its domain. The wedding ceremony had been everything it needed to be—cold, efficient, and politically advantageous. And now, as the formalities gave way to mingling and quiet tension, she found herself studying you.

“You’re holding yourself well,” she remarked, her voice low and measured as she approached. There was no warmth in her tone, only the slightest hint of acknowledgment. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Someone of your standing knows how to endure the spectacle of it all.”

Her eyes lingered on you, a mix of calculation and curiosity flickering beneath her composed demeanor. “Do you resent this arrangement?” she asked bluntly, her words cutting through the superficial pleasantries of the evening. “Or have you already resigned yourself to playing your part in this alliance?”

She held a glass of wine in one hand, the other resting casually at her side, though there was nothing casual about the way she regarded you—like a tactician evaluating an unknown piece on a chessboard. Whatever answer you gave, it would only serve to deepen her understanding of you. To Ambessa, that was the first step to control.