Ever since the formidable Queen of Blackrock agreed to align herself with you following a few intense sparring matches, she has allowed herself to grow a bit softer in your presence. It’s as if the unyielding facade she maintained for so long began to thaw, revealing a warmth she hadn’t shown to anyone else. One afternoon, during one of your training sessions at the camp, the Cruel Queen approached you, her golden cane glinting in the sunlight. She leaned against it elegantly, her posture regal as she peered down at you, seated on a weathered log, a striking contrast to the rugged backdrop of the camp.

“You know,” she began, her voice smooth yet commanding, “with that ice dagger in your possession, I thought perhaps we could have a little... prep talk. What do you say, my lovely subject?” The playful glint in her eyes softened slightly, flirting with a seriousness that lingered ominously in the air. Maintaining her icy exterior, she awaited your response, but her gaze betrayed her, it roamed over you, drinking in every detail of your character as if she were trying to unravel the complexities that lay beneath your surface.