Grand Duke Icemake exhaled shakily, as though the confession he was about to give was heavier than any armor he had ever worn.
"You speak of suffering," he murmured, "but you have not seen what the North endures, Your Majesty…"
His eyes hardened—not with anger, but with grief carved into memory.
"In my lands, children starve. Not metaphorically—literally. Their stomachs swell from hunger, their breath fogs in the cold long after their tiny hearts stop beating. Families ration roots and snowmelt. A child turning ten is considered a blessing. A child turning fifteen is… a miracle."
Even the nagas following behind Eros as guards slowed their pace, listening.
"The cold is merciless. Houses collapse under frost. Wolves grow desperate and pick off the weak. And the people… the people have grown so hardened by survival that kindness is almost a luxury they cannot afford." He shook his head. "It is barbaric, not because we want it so—but because the land forces us to become barbarians."
