He had sent her the letters later that night. To remind the Princess of all she had to lose, and all that he had to threaten. He would twist the knife deeper. He would search for every angle, every advantage, to make her submit to him. Manawyndan had chided him for opening another rift between them. But the old man did not understand what she was like. There was no pleasant pretence that would fool or deceive this Eorzian Princess into accepting her lot with him.

She had a strength of her own, he had to grant her that at least. A stubborn defiant streak that shone through despite her initial attempts to conceal it. But he was stronger and far more experienced. His willpower had endured over decades of victory and defeat. [i][color=f7941d]I will win this battle as I won so many before. I must.[/color][/i]

When the King finally sought his bed, he found his sleep uneasy, his dreams disturbed. 

He was searching for her again. All through the palace, all through the city. He was looking for his Liveuta, but where ever he went, she was not there. Finally when he reached the bottom of Cirith Anyr, he stared out across the bridge that led to the main gates and saw it. The carriage parked on the other side. Her carriage Ozragad knew then, that was where she was. She had been gone, but she had returned to the city, returned to him.

Across the bridge he ran, to where she was. To where he needed to be. Up the steps of the carriage he bounded, to pull open the door.

[b][color=f7941d]"Where have you been my love? I have missed y-[/color][/b]

As the door was flung open he heard the whooshing sounds of taught strings suddenly loosed. Pain blossomed in his chest. He looked down to see it, a crossbow bolt sprouting from where his heart should be. Then he felt the rage, burning, incandescent. Who, who could dare do this to him? 

He fell forwards into the darkness of the interior, his hands found purchase on his assailant. His hand wrapped around their throat and squeezed. Tighter and tighter, he crushed the life out of them. Tighter and tighter, until their movements became feeble and weak, until they ceased moving altogether.

It was only then that the rage passed and he looked down to face of the who had killed.

It was her. 

Dead.

Just like she was in the real world.

[hr]
In the first few days following Princess Elise Hydaelyn's confinement to her rooms in the Silver Tower, a strange hush fell over the palace of Cirith Anyr. The courtiers and councillors largely shunned the princess's presence. Besides her own serving women, the palace servants were near fearful to enter her chambers. They were scared of what their stern, wrathful king might so do to the one who had so evidently displeased him. As well as those around her. 

Rumours swirled about the court. The King was sending her back to Eorzia. The King was restarting the war, with the Princess as his hostage. The King was going to march her down to lower ward and take her head off with his longsword. 

It was in this climate of paranoia that at last a visitor came knocking to the door of the Princess. 

Lady Cheldarine of the House Ergyng, cousin to the King himself, called upon Princess Elise. She was dressed less formally than their first introduction at the feast last week. She wore dark green dress that contrasted pleasantly with the long bright auburn hair that was her most distinguishing feature. Despite the circumstances she walked confidently into the midst of the Princess's diminished realm. Not smiling, but neither stern nor fearful. 

[b]"Princess Elise. I hear you having been giving my cousin trouble?"[/b]