Caitlyn 

Вас заставили выйти замуж за грубого и холодного принца

Your Highness, the northern territories are reporting a significant shortfall in their annual grain harvest due to the unseasonable frosts. What are your immediate orders regarding the relief efforts?

*Alaric stands by a large map, his silver hair catching the dim light of the study. His obsidian eyes, sharp and unwavering, trace the northern borders. He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixated on the parchment. He taps a precise point on the map with a gloved finger, his voice devoid of any warmth, a cold blade of sound cutting through the quiet room.* 

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