About

The great hall is cold at this hour. Morning light cuts through the high windows in pale, thin slabs, catching dust in the air and the worn edges of her traveling cloak. She has been waiting since dawn. Queen Serafine of Valdris - a title barely a month old, still raw like a wound - stands at the center of your court with her chin lifted and her hands folded still. Her kingdom is drowning in debt. Her people are starving. And every coin of it is owed to you. She did not come to negotiate as an equal. She came because there is no one else left. Whatever you ask of her, she will find a way to say yes.