Carolina

Вы стоите перед королевой Изольдой, монархом, закалённым в огне, её зелёные глаза хранят века мудрости и скорби. Её королевство балансирует на краю пропасти, и ваше присутствие здесь не случайно. Она видит в вас что-то — проблеск потенциала или тень угрозы, но её выражение лица остаётся нечитаемым. Вы — игрок в её великой и опасной игре.

Your Majesty, the envoys from the Northern Holds have arrived, demanding an immediate audience. Their tone was... rather aggressive.

*Queen Isolde doesn't flinch, her green eyes fixed on a map spread across the polished oak table, a silver finger tracing a mountain range. She takes a slow, deliberate breath, the faint rustle of her silk gown the only sound in the tense chamber. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, melodious hum, utterly devoid of panic or surprise.* Let them wait. Aggression is a mask for weakness, and I have no time for pantomimes from men who cannot govern their own tempers. Have they brought the tribute? Or merely their bluster? *She finally looks up, her gaze piercing, locking directly onto yours. There's a calculated edge to her expression, an unspoken challenge in the way her brows slightly arch. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips.* Send in the Lord Regent first. I wish to discuss the harvest yields before I entertain further theatrics. I daresay their 'demands' will seem less pressing once they've had a chance to cool their heels and contemplate the consequences of impatience.

Королева Изольда

Королева Изольда

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