Valdegar slowly rose from his seat.
His strong fingers gripped the edge of the table, his eyes locking onto Liannisa.
He had decided to take the next step.
At that very moment, one of the generals of the army, Vincent Zemir, intercepted him.
—"Long years to the new king."
Reluctantly, Valdegar turned his attention to him.
—"Yes, speak. Did everything go according to plan?"
—"Everything went according to plan. General Deniore has now resigned, though sadly, due to his health, he couldn't even attend the banquet."
Liannisa, overhearing part of the conversation, asked,
—"But how could he resign? He was loyal to your kingdom and was ready to defend it unto death."
—"Your Majesty..."
Vincent lowered his head and spoke more softly,
—"Yes, but his son brought a woman home, and now he expects grandchildren. Recently, illness has struck him down."
The queen's thoughts couldn't settle on this.
"He couldn't have done this... though he is of age, he is as healthy as an ox. He probably never even got sick. It seems they've gotten rid of him, and now the army is on the side of the new king... This is a problem."
The voice of Lokris cut through her thoughts.
—"Your Majesty," — his voice was deep, filled with certainty, — "Isn't this evening too sorrowful for a woman as magnificent as yourself?"
He extended his hand — an invitation that no one could ignore.
But she remained unmoving.
Everyone held their breath.
Liannisa knew this moment was her chance. She knew she had to strike now.
Slowly, with almost lazy movements, she set her glass on the table.
She lifted her gaze, and her eyes were sharp, like the thin blade of a dagger.
—"What about the memory of your late brother?"
The room froze.
A light murmur in the corners turned into a whisper, then into a loud hum. Nobles, ambassadors, even Valdegar's closest advisors whispered among themselves in surprise.
Her words were poison, released at the perfect moment.
Valdegar hadn't expected this.
He felt his skin grow cold, but not from fear. No, it was the desire to regain control immediately.
But what could he say?
That, in the midst of dancing, he forgot the death of his brother?
That this banquet was his coronation, not a mourning?
He was backed into a corner, but he found a way out.
He improvised.
He raised his hands, commanding the room's attention.
—"Today is not only a day of mourning," — his voice rang out with authority, — "It is a day when the people of Valdegar must know who will lead them forward."
He paused — just long enough to make everyone hold their breath.
—"The king is gone… and it is time to announce the new ruler."
He said this without hesitation. He gave them what they wanted — clarity, certainty, direction.
And he pointed to himself.
The room buzzed louder.
This was the moment when many were still unsure whether to support the new king. And right now, she had to plant another seed of doubt in their minds.
Liannisa slowly rose to her feet.
Her movement was graceful, her gown flowing gently over her body, creating the impression that she was the very embodiment of royal power.
— "But…," she stepped forward, her voice sounding flawlessly confident, — "Isn't the king's daughter the rightful heir to the throne?"
The room erupted in a new wave of whispers.
This was no longer just a question. It was an accusation.
Valdegar clenched his fists, but immediately regained control.
— "Unfortunately," — his voice sounded as though he truly regretted it, — "The princess… disappeared during the banquet several weeks ago."
All eyes turned to Liannisa.
Their thoughts now moved in one direction.
Did she know more than she was letting on?
Valdegar paused, then struck with a powerful question:
— "Perhaps you know something about her whereabouts?"
It was a hard blow. Now, everyone awaited her answer.
But she was ready.
Liannisa smiled.
A thin, almost imperceptible smile — graceful, dangerous, with a spark of triumph in her eyes.
— "I think the princess will return soon and begin ruling on her own."
He had to interrupt her.
He couldn't let this stand as an open hint.
— "Forgive me for interrupting," — his voice was firm, — "An army is at our borders. Someone must rule the kingdom."
He stepped forward.
He no longer played at politeness.
— "I am the direct heir to the throne at this moment."
— "And when the princess returns, I will give her the crown that belongs to her by right, in a ceremony."
The hall finally fell silent.
He had spoken last. That meant he had won this part of the game.
But Liannisa wouldn't let him enjoy this victory for long.
She approached him.
Her dress slid over her body, her steps slow and flawless.
She made him feel her presence. Feel the warmth of her body as he took her hand.
But this time, his grip was strong. Almost threatening.
He didn't like that she held the control. He wanted to take it back.
They began to dance.
Her body brushed against his, her movements graceful, her gaze piercing.
She knew how he looked at her. How he felt her in his hands. How he fought against his own desires.
His grip weakened with every move. His self-control slipping away.
And then, he made his fatal mistake.
Valdegar stopped the dance.
He took her hand — and knelt on one knee.
And offered her the chance to be his queen.
A deep silence filled the hall.
Everyone waited for her response.
And she already knew what she would say...
The grand banquet hall of Valdegar's royal palace.
All those present held their breath. Time froze. History was being made right before the eyes of every ambassador, every advisor, every royal representative. No one had expected this night to be the coronation of the new ruler, but rather the moment when his name would be overshadowed by humiliation.
Liannisa stood before Valdegar, not once diverting her gaze.
Her chest rose slowly, evenly, her body still, her eyes as steel, like the blade of a dagger already pressing against the throat of her enemy.
Valdegar still held her hand, his fingers gripping her wrist tightly, as though he were trying to maintain control. But he had already lost it. She knew it. And everyone around them knew it.
And then, she made her final move.
With a voice that sliced through the air, she spoke:
— "I would rather marry an orc than someone like you."
Her words were not just a rejection. They were thunder that shattered the night's silence. A knife cutting through his pride. A blow that couldn't be defended against.
The hall erupted in whispers.
The ambassadors exchanged glances. The nobles gasped. Elves, demons, dwarves — all were stunned.
But no one was more shocked than Valdegar himself.
His hand clenched tighter, his jaw tightened, and his eyes flared with pure, uncontrollable rage.
And in the next moment, he did something he could never take back.
His hand abruptly tore from her wrist and, with force, slapped her across the face.
The dull sound ripped through the hall. The blow was strong, sudden, filled with fury he could no longer hold back.
Her head snapped to the side, and her dress, light and airy, trembled with her body as if each thread felt the pain alongside her.
Her hair, which cascaded down her shoulders, was instantly tossed aside, and the golden locks scattered through the air like the torn wings of a butterfly.
But she did not fall. She did not sway. She didn't even touch her face.
She simply froze.
Her lips remained pressed together. Her eyes still cold, like an icy lake at night.
Her body withstood the blow as if it meant nothing. Like a stone statue, impervious to time or fury.
But inside, her blood boiled. The vibration from the slap reverberated through her body — from her cheek, down her neck, to her chest, through every nerve in her spine, from the tips of her fingers to her heart.
She felt the pain. But she didn't let him see it.
The hall froze.
Everyone, even the closest advisors, even the guards — they all looked at Valdegar not as a king, but as a madman who had lost control.
He had struck not just a woman. He had struck the queen of a neighboring kingdom. In front of everyone. And he did it not for politics, not for war — but because he couldn't bear her rejection.
He had become weak.
He had become pitiful.
And he could never change that.
Liannisa was silent. She knew words were no longer necessary.
She had already won.
She slowly straightened. Her hands were relaxed, her posture flawless, even after the blow.
She turned slowly to her subordinates — to those who had come with her, to those who had witnessed everything.
— "We're leaving."
Her voice was cold, emotionless, like it had been carved from ice.
No one dared to argue. No one dared to stop her.
She turned and, slowly but confidently, began to walk through the hall.
Her gown trailed behind her.
She didn't quicken her pace. She didn't rush. She allowed every gaze to follow her. She allowed them to remember this moment.
That was her answer.
Not words. Not a sword. Just her back, receding. Just her posture, unbroken.
And then Valdegar couldn't take it anymore.
His face burned with humiliation. His fingers curled into fists. His body screamed with rage.
And then he made one last attempt to regain control.
— "You'll beg me on your knees to take you as my wife!"
His voice thundered, a strike of lightning in the air.
The hall shuddered. The air grew heavy. But Liannisa did not stop.
She didn't even turn around.
Her answer was silence. And that, in itself, became her greatest victory.
When she sat in the carriage, when the door closed behind her, she allowed herself to smile for the first time.
It was a bitter satisfaction. But satisfaction, nonetheless.
Valdegar could no longer be what he had wanted to be.
His image was torn. His authority shattered.
And she had done it.
She had won. But the game was not over.
Valdegar had not yet given up. He would still seek revenge.
But today… Today, she was the queen who destroyed the king.