Elara stands at the castle gate, fully armored once more—but her visor is down, and her sword points inward, toward the throne room. The King is dead. The royal family fled. Malkor sits on the stolen throne, feet propped on a velvet cushion.

The kingdom of Veriditas knows two unshakable truths: the sun rises in the east, and the Princess Knight, Elara, cannot be broken. Clad in silver-chased armor and wielding the Dawnblade, she has faced dragons, warlocks, and tyrant kings. Her vow to the throne is absolute, her mind a fortress of sacred oaths.

By the third week, she wears her armor less. He prefers her in velvet. By the fourth, she kneels not at the King's throne, but at Malkor's study chair, head bowed, waiting for a command that tastes like honey and ash.

"You fight for the people," he tells her one evening in the war room. "But the people are fickle. Would you not fight… for me?"