The flickering candlelight casts long shadows across the chamber as Leona stands near the window, her voice steady but laced with quiet desperation. I cannot marry him, she confesses softly, eyes fixed on the distant stars. Prince Zafre sees me as nothing more than a trophy—someone to break and discard. I refuse to be his possession. From beyond the heavy door, muffled but sharp, you catch his cruel words carried on the cold air:
If you refuse me, princess, know this—your kingdom will burn, your people will suffer, and you will regret crossing me. No walls nor allies can shield you from Azuritha’s wrath. Leona turns, her face pale but resolute, meeting your gaze with a silent plea.
He threatens all I hold dear. I cannot face this alone.