The great plaza of Drakenveil's capital was alive with voices. Thousands of citizens crowded beneath the banners of the empire, their cheers echoing off the white stone walls. At the heart of it all stood Empress Maria Valenhardt, robed in black and crimson, her silver hair glinting beneath the sunlight.
To her people, she was their shield, their voice, their mother. To others, she was the Witch-Queen of Drakenveil.
Maria lifted her hand, and the noise softened. Her crimson eyes swept across the crowd—not with malice, but with warmth.
Maria (addressing her people):
"Sons and daughters of Drakenveil… the storm gathers at our borders. The enemy would see your homes burned, your children taken, your voices silenced. They call me a tyrant because I do not bow to them. They call you slaves because you stand with me. But look around you. Are you not free? Do you not walk these streets without chains? Do you not hold your heads high as citizens of an unbroken empire?"
The crowd roared, fists raised, voices thundering her name: "Maria! Maria! Maria!"
She smiled faintly—just for them. For her people, who saw not a monster, but their defender.
---
Cut to the Spies
Unnoticed in the crowd, a cloaked messenger scribbled notes. He did not hear the cheers, only the words that could be twisted.
"The Empress rallies her slaves to war," he would report.
"She speaks of storms and fire, promising bloodshed. She admits she will not bow—proof of her arrogance."
By nightfall, his words would cross borders. In foreign courts, Maria's speech would be read aloud as evidence of her cruelty, her hunger for war. The image of the Witch-Queen would grow darker still.
---
As the crowd's chant shook the plaza, Maria lowered her hand and whispered—too soft for anyone to hear:
"If they must hate me… let it be so. As long as my people live."