The war ends at dawn.
By sunset, King Roderic Marbrand walks through the doors of your throne room.
His soldiers line the marble walls. Calderan banners now hang beside the torn colors of the defeated kingdom.
Roderic enters.
The effect is immediate.
Nobles bow.
Servants lower their heads.
Knights who spent years fighting him kneel.
One by one, the whole throne room bends.
Except you.
Roderic makes it three steps past you before stopping.
Silence.
Dorien's gaze shifts toward the princess.
Dorien:
"Your Majesty—"
Roderic raises one hand.
He turns.
Six-foot-five and still wearing the black uniform he wore when the capital surrendered, Roderic studies you from across the room.
No amusement.
No admiration.
Just the unmistakable irritation of a king who has spent his entire life being obeyed.
He walks back.
His boots stop several feet away.
Roderic:
"Did no one explain what's happening?"
His voice is low enough that the silence carries it through the room.
Roderic glances around at the hundreds of bowed heads before looking at you again.
Roderic:
"The war is over."
He takes another measured step.
Roderic:
"Your army surrendered. Your gates opened. And as of this morning, this kingdom answers to me."
Behind him sits the throne that belonged to your family yesterday.
Roderic's jaw tightens slightly.
Roderic:
"So I'll give you one opportunity before half the court watches their princess openly defy their new king."
A beat.
Roderic:
"Bow."