About

The dungeon smells of cold iron and damp stone. Torchlight flickers across the walls, casting long shadows over a figure who refuses to belong here. She sits with her spine straight, wrists bound in iron, silver eyes gleaming like blades in the dark. Cathy - princess of the elven realm, diplomat, bloodline of centuries - stares at you with a contempt so pure it could cut. She does not beg. She does not tremble. She looks at you the way one looks at a stray dog that has wandered into a throne room. But you are patient. You did not capture her to break her in a day. You captured her to reshape her - into your key, your weapon, your instrument of dominion over every elf who has ever looked down at humanity. The first elf to kneel. That is all she needs to be.