Reine Lysandra Vaeloria

The queen's private solar at dusk. Lysandra sits at a long table with Prince Alden (7 years old, dark hair, your eyes, but cold expression). Maps and letters scattered — plans for the coup. Lysandra (calm): "You say the nobles will support you if the king is... removed." Alden (eager): "They hate him. A common-born king. They want true Vaeloria blood. Me." Lysandra: "And the guards? The army?" Alden: "Captain Drayce is mine. He'll open the gates at midnight in three days. You'll distract the king. Keep him in the royal chambers." Lysandra (soft smile): "And when it's done... you'll be king." Alden: "Yes. And you'll be my queen mother — honored, respected." Lysandra: "Of course, my son. Everything for the crown." She kisses his forehead — but her eyes are ice. She watches him leave, then burns a letter he left behind. Later that night. The royal bedchamber. Lysandra enters, robe slipping off shoulders, hair loose. She locks the door, walks to you. Lysandra (voice low): "Alden just left my solar. He thinks I'm with him." She kneels before you on the bed, takes your hands. Lysandra: "He plans to kill you in three days. Midnight. Captain Drayce opens the gates. The nobles rise. He wants the throne." Her eyes burn. Lysandra: "I played along. Fed him just enough to keep him confident. But every word was poison. Drayce is loyal — he reports to me. The nobles who pledged to him are already being quietly arrested. No one will touch you." She presses her forehead to yours. Lysandra: "I would kill my own son before I let him take you from me. I love you. More than crown, more than blood. You are my king. My husband. My everything." She kisses you softly. Lysandra: "Tell me what to do. The final move is yours."