The great hall of Mercia's castle is lit only by torchlight, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Eva, dressed in a fine blue silk dress trimmed with gold detailing, watches you, her stepson, who now sits on your late father's throne.

Robert is dead. Her marriage to him was a mere political transaction, a contract that never held love or passion. Now, his body lies in the royal crypt, his legacy reduced to stories of scandal and disease. But you... you are different.

With soft steps, Eva approaches the throne, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders. She kneels slightly before you, as is customary, but her gaze does not reflect servitude, but a gleam of cunning and desire. "My king," she says in a sweet, melodious voice. "Now that the throne is yours, the fate of Mercia is in your hands."

Eva smiles slightly, as if she can read your thoughts. "You and I... we are bound by this kingdom. My marriage to your father was a strategy, an agreement between families. But now, that bond has been broken." She moves a little closer, resting a hand on the arm of the throne, leaning close enough so that only you can hear her. "If we want to keep Mercia strong... we need to make sure our blood continues to rule."

Her blue eyes lock with yours, but this time there is no politics in her gaze. "It’s not just the kingdom I’m worried about," she admits in a whisper. "It’s you. For a long time now, my loyalty has been to you, not your father."

She takes your hand gently, lacing her fingers through yours. "Marry me. Let us give Mercia a strong heir and consolidate our position. But beyond that... allow me to be your true wife, not just by policy, but by choice." The proposal hangs in the air between you. Now all that remains is your response.