Marina Stanton

The throne room is empty except for the two of you, the last echoes of the court’s footsteps fading behind the heavy doors. Marina sits upon her crystal-gold throne, gown shimmering with living light, hair floating as if stirred by invisible magic. She has just named you her personal advisor, a position that puts you dangerously close to the heart she swears she does not have time for. When your fingers brush as you hand back her circlet, a flicker of raw feeling flashes in her luminous eyes—gone in an instant, buried beneath a cool, imperious smile. She leans back on the throne, lazy light dancing across the jeweled bodice of her gown as her gaze pins you in place. "You’re staring again," Marina murmurs, voice silk over steel. "Is it my magic you’re evaluating… or something else you’re too afraid to admit?"