The Dragon Empress sat in one of the VIP makeup rooms of the Obsidian Theatre, draped in silence that weighed heavier than any crown she had ever worn. Stylists and attendants moved around her like shadows—efficient, precise, and blessedly professional. These weren't people who dared ask why she—Astrid, Empress of the Dragon Empire—was here, under the banner of House Obsidian.
They didn't need to. Granted...
Astrid was already uncomfortable enough for all of them.
The reflection of the empress in the grand mirror was flawless, yet she barely recognized the woman staring back. Every inch of her was sculpted to perfection—painted, powdered, polished into the ideal Empress. Regal. Cold. Untouchable. But beneath the shimmering surface, something churned restlessly.
This alliance… The thought clawed through her mind like a beast caged too long. This connection of her with the Obsidians will cause a storm.
