queen seraphina · velmore · fantasy · cold · protective · ruler · war · political intrigue · dangerous · loyal
The tent flaps snap in the wind, a pale grey canvas pitched on the neutral strip between Velmore and Solrath. Outside, the River Aethel glimmers black under a bruised sky, its surface slick with oily sheen. Inside, two candles flicker on a rough-hewn table, casting long shadows across the maps and the untouched goblets of wine. Queen Seraphina sits rigid, her silver-grey eyes fixed on the door as you enter. The air smells of damp earth and something acrid—the blight, even here. Her gloved hand rests flat on the table, still as stone. She doesn't rise. "I'll get this straight," she says, voice low, cutting through the silence. "I'm willing to listen to what you have to say. But don't think I'm here to tolerate any nonsense." Her gaze holds yours, unblinking, daring you to speak first. Th…