The story of Iskiran succession and Queen Armania's rise left me contemplating the sheer, unbridled power that defined their throne. It was a stark contrast to the bloodlines and traditions of other kingdoms. As the silence settled, I remembered another detail Professor Dianna had mentioned. "You know," I said to Gianna, "Professor Dianna said Queen Yvonne was madly in love with Sigurd." Gianna's eyes softened, a wistful look crossing her face, as if she were gazing at a distant, cherished memory. "Yes," she confirmed softly, her voice barely a whisper. "She was. After the Convergence War, and Sigurd's sudden appearance and even more sudden disappearance, Queen Yvonne was utterly heartbroken. She never truly recovered, her spirit forever shadowed by his absence. Her longing for him was a wound that never truly healed, a constant ache beneath her regal composure." "She would often read her poems aloud," Gianna continued, her voice taking on a melodic, almost reverent tone, as if recalling sacred words passed down through generations. "One of them, a particular favorite, spoke of her unending longing for him, how much she missed him, how his absence had hollowed out her world." Gianna paused, her gaze distant, then recited, her voice echoing softly in the common room, each word imbued with a profound, quiet sorrow:
"Where mist-veiled waters endlessly sigh, My heart, a silent prisoner, for you does lie. Oh, Sigurd, my king, my void, my deepest plea, The silence you leave, a boundless, aching sea.
Each dawn, a whisper, in shadows entwined, I seek your presence, a solace I cannot find. The world spins on, but my soul remains bound, To the echo of your steps on hallowed, empty ground.
Return, my love, from realms unseen, And mend this heart, where sorrow's roots have been. For in your absence, my spirit does yearn, For the void you filled, for your swift return, A return that haunts, a hope that burns."
The poem hung in the air, a testament to Queen Yvonne's profound and enduring love for King Sigurd, and the depth of her longing after he left. It painted a picture of a powerful queen utterly captivated by the Void King, a connection that transcended kingdoms and conflict, a love so deep it consumed her very being. The implications for my own lineage, for the very bind I carried, felt heavier, more complex than ever before, a thread of ancient yearning now woven into my own existence. "Wow, what happened back then?" I said to Gianna, the poem's lingering emotion still potent in the air, a melancholic beauty that resonated deep within me. "I wonder." Gianna smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes, a subtle warmth replacing the wistfulness. "Some say Sigurd and Yvonne did sleep together for a while, a week after the Peace Treaty of Eldr. Some poems do describe that event a bit—they're quite explicit, so kids aren't allowed to read them," she said, her voice dropping slightly, a hint of playful scandal in her tone. "It's said that Sigurd went missing after that, and Queen Yvonne never stopped looking for him. She tried everything; even her personal guards still search for Sigurd to this day, a futile quest driven by a queen's undying devotion." Gianna's gaze then locked onto mine, her expression shifting. I noticed a subtle tension in her posture, and the way the delicate fabric of her nightgown stretched taut across her chest, revealing the unmistakable, firm points of her nipples, hardening beneath the sheer material. A faint flush seemed to rise on her cheeks, and her smile, though still gentle, held a new, deeper warmth, a quiet invitation in her eyes. It was clear her desire mirrored my own. She leaned closer, her face turning red, her eyes unblinking as she stared at me point-blank, without a trace of a smile. I froze, unsure how to react to her intense scrutiny, a strange, electric tension building between us. Then, she leaned in further and kissed me on the lips.