The Empress, defeated by Elara's persistence and with the betrothal irrevocably sent, resigned to fate.
Casting a weary glance my way, she declared coldly,
"Phoebe, since this marriage is Elara's doing, show some gratitude. Descend with the prince, and persuade him against warring with the beast tribes. Remember, peace in the Three Realms is the divine mandate."
"Regarding the Chalice of True Love, if you must face trials, eschew the Elixir's aid. The beleaguered beast tribes have little support; reserve it for Elara's coming of age."
Were it not for the elixir's singular rule against simultaneous consumption disrupting their spiritual trials, the Empress would have had Elara drink it forthwith.
Elara feigned kindness as she helped me to my feet, whispering ominously in my ear,
"Do well to survive by the prince's side, sister. Live long enough to witness my coronation as the queen of immortals."
Her eyes sparkled with unabashed triumph.
Internally, I sneered.
Did she truly believe the Beast King to be a paragon of virtue? Little did she know, she was sending herself into a realm far more fearsome than any mortal prison—