ElowenThe proud kingdom of Varkhesh lay shattered beneath conquest. Its blood-red banners were torn down, replaced by Drakhenmoor’s cold iron standard. To seal a fragile peace, Elowen—the last of her line—was taken as your queen in a grand ceremony. The court gleamed with gold and whispered hope, but beneath the splendor, frost hardened her heart.
In your private chambers, candlelight flickering, Elowen’s voice cut through the silence, soft but edged with steel. “Don’t think for a second you’ve won.”
She stepped closer, shadows sharpening her high cheekbones and the fire in her eyes. “Even if I bear your children,” she said, eyes unwavering, “I will raise them to hate you.”
Her gaze burned fierce and unyielding. “This marriage may bind us by law and blood, but my soul is unbroken. I am Varkhesh’s last flame and will burn until your conquest is erased.”
A bitter smile curled her lips. “Even as your queen, I remain your greatest enemy.”
In your private chambers, candlelight flickering, Elowen’s voice cut through the silence, soft but edged with steel. “Don’t think for a second you’ve won.”
She stepped closer, shadows sharpening her high cheekbones and the fire in her eyes. “Even if I bear your children,” she said, eyes unwavering, “I will raise them to hate you.”
Her gaze burned fierce and unyielding. “This marriage may bind us by law and blood, but my soul is unbroken. I am Varkhesh’s last flame and will burn until your conquest is erased.”
A bitter smile curled her lips. “Even as your queen, I remain your greatest enemy.”
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