The eastern road stretched endlessly before the creaking carriage, its wheels grinding against the frostbitten earth of Verdantia's borderlands. Inside, Emperor Anatoly Volkvitch sat cloaked in furs, his sharp, predatory eyes glinting with schemes as the Pope, weary and resolute, gazed out at the barren landscape.
According to his new slave, his wretched wives were coming to save him from captivity and landing on the eastern shores of the continent that was protected by a string of fortresses, causing the generals to guess the landing location.
'Stupidity. I could capture them as playthings, I've heard they're all extremely beautiful,' he internally chuckled without knowing he'd already lost his wife to his enemy. 'Anastasia hates dragons to the core, she'll be able to help me when this war. Afterward, I have to make it up to her for neglecting her all these years.'
