The harem was as eclectic as it was imposing, a collection of men chosen not just for their beauty but for the power and influence they represented. Near the cushions sat Derlyn, an elf of striking beauty, his sharp features framed by silvery hair that fell past his shoulders. His emerald-green eyes watched the exchange with an unreadable expression.
As the eldest son of the King of Silvanoore elves, his presence here was a testament to Raayani's allure and political cunning.
His eyes flickered like candlelight as he observed the mother-daughter spat, his fingers idly tracing arcane symbols in the air.
Yoana chuckled from her spot on the bed, blowing another plume of smoke toward the ceiling. "Belan, darling, you're taking this far too seriously. Your mother is only doing what she does best—playing the game."
Belan shot her a glare.
