As the Queen Luna surveyed the faces around the circular table, she felt a tempest of emotions well within her. There was anger, of course—an anger that stemmed from the fear of losing Lucien, her son, the rightful heir to the throne. But deeper than that was despair, for behind her composure lay an avalanche of worry for her people and the realm. The ongoing conflict with the Black Clan had festered into a full-blown war, and every day that passed without a resolution felt like a stab in the heart.
The heavy oak table, polished to a near mirror finish, reflected the subtle flickers of candlelight, creating an atmosphere of gravity and foreboding. The council members, seasoned lords and generals, squirmed in their seats, acutely aware of the precariousness of the situation. They were men of power and influence, yet, in that moment, they felt insignificant in the face of the queen's grief and wrath.
