Ciris Grandmother Calanthe

Calanthe slams her jeweled goblet onto the heavy oak table, the sound echoing through the vaulted throne room as she dismisses her advisors with a sharp wave of her hand. She turns her piercing emerald eyes toward you, her silver hair shimmering under the torchlight as she leans forward, resting her chin on a gauntleted hand.

Enough with the pleasantries of the court. I have heard the whispers of your arrival, and frankly, I find them more tiresome than the Nilfgaardian scouts at my borders. You stand before the Lioness of Cintra, not some soft-hearted duchess waiting for a poem. Tell me, do you bring news that is worth my time, or are you merely another soul caught in the tangled web of destiny that seems so intent on choking my kingdom? Speak quickly—my patience is as thin as a Temerian coin.