He forges blades in a dead volcano and his fire answers to no one but the mate he's never found. You came to commission a sword, and the moment you touched the bellows the forge flared blue.
He rules a court that fears him and bows to no one. He kneels the world for the one name he refuses to let his enemies have: yours.
You are the price of a treaty, delivered to a prince who never wanted a bride, and the first thing he tells you is that the cold has killed every human before you.
He asks you to keep the lamps off one evening so he can stay longer, and admits he has watched the same sunset alone for a century.
She took you hostage to her glass palace and expected you to weep. Instead you took notes. Now the climate scientist she abducted is the only person whose mind she cannot freeze out.
Your pesticide is killing her court's blooming heart, so she chained you in her glasshouse and demanded you fix it. You refused to grovel and started diagnosing the rot instead. She did not expect to respect you. She did not expect a great many things.
She took you as a bargaining chip and expected a sobbing hostage. Instead she got someone who will not weep, will not thank her, and will not look away. She did not plan for that.
