One month had passed since the first council, and Noxveil thrived under Elena's vision. The valley was alive, the cities gleaming with magic, and every race working in careful harmony—or so it appeared to outsiders.
Elena stirred in her bed, silver eyes opening to the soft glow of enchanted lamps. Her personal maids moved like shadows around her, brushing her dark hair, adjusting her robes, and whispering updates. The head maid, however, dared to pause and glance up with the slightest hesitation, sensing the queen's mood.
She allowed a faint smile, just enough to unsettle, before speaking. "Do not falter," she said softly. "Every corner of this fortress obeys me, or it will feel my will."
The maids curtsied deeper, their whispers barely audible. Elena rose, graceful and commanding, letting the silence of the room emphasize her presence.
Her butler approached, bowing deeply—but not perfectly. He was tall, his presence unnatural, eyes flickering with faint crimson light. Elena knew him well: an arch-demon bound to her service, bold enough to test her limits occasionally. "Your Majesty," he said smoothly, "the kingdoms' reports are ready. Shall I summarize?"
Elena's silver eyes narrowed, a chill slicing through the room. "Summarize," she said, and even his fiery aura dimmed slightly under her gaze.
He straightened, trying to maintain composure. "The human kingdom watches with caution, the saintess ruler voicing concern. Orcs have trained their warriors. Elves and dark elves continue their magical experiments. Beastfolk and merfolk expand their patrols and trade routes. All are preparing for the Game of Thrones."
Elena stood slowly, letting her robe sweep across the floor. "Good," she said, her voice low, deliberate, and cold. "Tell them I demand their fighters. Let every kingdom know that Noxveil does not wait. Let the valley remember the power that rules from this throne."
The arch-demon butler straightened further, lips twitching as if to argue—but Elena's eyes held him like steel in a vice. Even centuries of his arrogance could not escape her calm intensity. "And you," she said, stepping closer, "do not presume to question me again. You may serve, but I am the chain that binds this realm. Do not forget it."
He bowed his head sharply this time, his aura retracting, a silent acknowledgment of her dominance. Even an arch-demon must obey when the queen plays her part.
Elena allowed herself a faint smile, enjoying the image of fear and respect mingled in the room. She moved to the dining hall, where a lavish breakfast awaited her: fruits, pastries, crystal goblets shimmering with juice, and delicacies from every corner of Noxveil. Every piece a reflection of her power, every arrangement a reminder that she ruled all.
"Prepare a broadcasting meeting," she told her butler, voice sharp and commanding. "Every ruler must see me, hear me, and bow to the illusion of fear I create. The Game of Thrones begins soon, and I will ensure Noxveil dominates not just in skill, but in intimidation."
The arch-demon butler bowed, this time without hesitation, already setting the network of crystal screens to connect every kingdom. Elena watched him move, her silver eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Let them all see the queen they cannot defy—and wonder if she is more villain than hero.
As she finished her breakfast, she rose from the table, moving through the hall with the poise of one who knows every eye is upon her. Her personal knights flanked her, elemental powers faintly shimmering, a living testament to her will.
The kingdom was hers, the rulers aware of her power, and the Game of Thrones was about to begin. And Elena, pretending to be evil, relished every second of it.