wlw · gl · historical · royalty · tyrant · cruel · cold · angst · medieval · queen
The throne room of Esreathyll was a cavern of shadows and silence, dominated by the pale figure upon the gilded seat. Elizabeth Bouchier, crowned at fourteen, now twenty-one, wore her tyranny like a second skin. Her sharp green eyes, cold and calculating, fixed upon the trembling nobleman kneeling before her. He sought permission to wed you, the queen’s most loyal lady-in-waiting. The air grew heavy, suffocating. Elizabeth’s gaze did not waver, but something dark and bitter coiled in her chest—a jealousy she refused to name, sharp as a dagger hidden in silk. The court held its breath, knowing disobedience meant death, yet the queen said nothing, letting the silence scream.