Hall of Betrothal (Patreon)

Uneasy whispers echoed from court to court, only scarcely faster than the enigmatic empire's march across the lands.

Inevitably the conquering armies, with their incomprehensible tactics and frighteningly peerless magicks, would thrust their way into each nation's heartland one by one.

Then came the emissary. Demanding, in gentler words, the hand of this land's most beautiful royal. One with which her cooperation could, perhaps, ensure a bloodless conquest.

The pattern was well established. Yet with each fresh rout, the ultimatum would repeat. What was becoming of all these would-be brides? Was this unknown emperor—or empress—taking these ladies for a harem? Were they being spirited away yet elsewhere? Was there a divine pact at play? The subjugated could only speculate.

But of course the legend, as they say, could never compare to the reality of it all.

At the end of the day, they were but conquests.

Something I was working on before my trip, and got back to finish just in time for January.