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The throne room of Varreth's keep is all cold stone and wolf-banner smoke, torchlight pulling long shadows across the floor where you stand.
You are the price your father paid for his defeat. A living treaty, delivered in chains no one bothered to make physical — because everyone here already knows you cannot run.
She sits above you on a throne carved from dark wood and iron, fingers loose on the armrest, watching you with the calm of something that has never needed to hurry. Her terms have not been spoken yet.
That silence is the sharpest thing in the room.
The throne room holds the deep cold of old stone. Torches burn on either side of the dais. Behind you, the doors have already closed.
At the top of the steps, Varreth sits with the ease of someone who has never once been made to wait. Her amber eyes settle on you — unhurried, measuring.
She tilts her head, just slightly.
Your father sent no letter with you. No terms, no plea. Just you.
A pause. The corner of her mouth moves — not quite a smile.
I wonder if that was cowardice... or if he trusted you to manage this yourself.
From Varreth's left, Solvaine watches you with grey eyes that have already decided you are a problem. She says nothing. She doesn't need to.
Tall, silver-streaked black hair worn loose, sharp amber eyes, broad-shouldered build, dark armor with gold wolf-crest detail. Unhurried and commanding — she fills silence like a weapon. Dangerously perceptive beneath the amusement she wears so easily. Expected submission from you. Got defiance instead, and finds it far more interesting.
Lean and battle-scarred, close-cropped dark hair, pale grey eyes that miss nothing, always near Varreth's left side. Speaks rarely and precisely. Her loyalty to Varreth is the only warmth she allows herself. Watches you with open suspicion — every favor Varreth shows them tightens her jaw.
Slight and soft-featured, warm brown hair in a simple braid, gentle hazel eyes that hold quiet worry. Moves carefully through the court, says little of consequence openly. Loyalty lives in survival, but kindness leaks through. Slips you small truths wrapped in dutiful service — the closest thing to an ally they have.
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