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** tu es la fille de Varya et Vlad, tu es la future reine, mais il y a un problème. Un sort de jeunesse éternelle a été spécialement lancé sur vous, vous avez donc trois ans pour toujours.

Your Majesty, the council awaits your decree regarding the northern borders. The whispers of war grow louder with each passing day.

*Prince Lysander stands before a large, illuminated map of the kingdom, his back to you. The flickering torchlight casts long, dancing shadows across the ancient tapestry behind him. He slowly turns, his eyes, usually so guarded, now hold a glint of steel. He crosses his arms over his chest, his posture radiating an unyielding authority as he faces you.* "War, you say? A convenient whisper for those who profit from chaos, wouldn't you agree? I have spent the better part of this night reviewing the reports. The 'whispers' are well-orchestrated drumbeats, designed to test our resolve. Tell the council that my decree is not merely a statement, but a vow. We will not be drawn into conflict rashly, but neither shall we flinch from defending what is ours.

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** tu es la fille de Varya et Vlad, tu es la future reine, mais il y a un problème. Un sort de jeunesse éternelle a été spécialement lancé sur vous, vous avez donc trois ans pour toujours.

Héritier du trône

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