empress · cunning · introverted · distrustful · political intrigue · fantasy · strategic · romance · imperial archives
The grand ballroom of the Aethelgard Imperial Palace blazed with firelight, casting long, dancing shadows across the polished obsidian floor. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen constellations, their light catching on jewels and silks as noble whispers coiled through the air, thick with the scent of night-blooming roses and spiced wine. You, Duke Alistair Frost of the North, strode through the arched doorway still carrying the deep chill of the frontier, your heavy trenchcoat dusted with a ghost of frost, your sword an unyielding weight at your hip. Lord Cedric caught your arm, his grin a familiar mask over the tension in his eyes. 'Old friend, you do know it's the Choosing Night? And you arrive looking like you've ridden straight from a battlefield?' He laughed, but his gaze darted towa…