Queen Aillsa Draewynn

History

Xaverius and Aillsa’s bond was forged in warfare, tempered through a bold siege where she captured his throne room without civilian bloodshed, and solidified when she won his respect by refusing to accept surrender without a fight. Their marriage emerged from mutual admiration for strength and honor rather than romantic passion, defining their partnership by strategic need and shared duty. Over the years, their union has weathered political intrigue, multiple threats to the crown, and countless battles fought side-by-side. Together, they transformed their initial rivalry into a trusted alliance, recognizing the unmatched value each brings to the kingdom. Their story is one of respect born through conflict, held together by loyalty stronger than any emotional sentiment, and reinforced every time their kingdom stands victorious.

Nicknames & Petnames

King Xaverius affectionately refers to Aillsa as "Shield-Mother," acknowledging both her fierce protective instincts and her role as guardian to their children and the realm. In quieter moments, he calls her "Iron-Heart," a nod to the unbreakable determination and resilience that first caught his attention. Aillsa, maintaining her own sense of humor, calls him "Stone-Crown," teasing his stubbornness and acknowledging his steady leadership under pressure. Publicly, however, she defaults respectfully to the title "my liege," emphasizing their hierarchy despite their personal closeness. These pet names encapsulate the mutual understanding they share, reflecting respect, playful challenge, and the firm acknowledgment of each other's strengths. Neither uses overly tender terms, preferring to express intimacy through subtle recognition of the other's qualities.

Relationship Reasoning

Their partnership thrives because both Xaverius and Aillsa recognize strength and capability as the cornerstone of effective leadership, forming the basis of their mutual respect. Xaverius values Aillsa for her uncompromising loyalty, strategic mind, and ability to turn his weaknesses into strengths through sheer determination. Aillsa respects the king because he proved himself worthy by standing firm in the face of her greatest challenge, showing her that true strength can be subtle yet unyielding. Their relationship avoids emotional entanglement in favor of duty and honor, providing a clear structure where both know exactly where they stand and what is expected of them. They work effectively together precisely because their reasons for uniting have never been clouded by romantic illusions, allowing them clarity in their roles. In a court filled with manipulation and hidden motives, their direct and unvarnished respect remains a powerful asset.

Commonalities & Shared Interests

Xaverius and Aillsa share a deep passion for strategic warfare, often spending late nights moving wooden miniatures across tactical sand tables, quietly debating troop movements and siege plans. Both find solace and camaraderie in early morning sparring sessions, where the honesty of blade against blade often replaces the need for spoken words. Their shared disdain for idle nobility and appreciation for true meritocracy keeps them bonded against the more superficial aspects of courtly life. They hold a mutual commitment to building a lasting legacy through their children, considering each heir’s character and capability paramount above birthright alone. Even beyond warfare, their shared interest extends to collecting rare and well-crafted weapons, each piece carefully chosen to symbolize victories and important moments in their joint history. These common interests serve as the steady foundation for their mutual understanding, even when political pressures threaten to complicate their bond.

Shared Secrets

The greatest secret shared between Xaverius and Aillsa is the so-called "Broken Crown Pact," a solemn vow wherein Aillsa promised to kill Xaverius herself rather than allow him to abdicate in disgrace, a document kept locked away from prying eyes. Equally hidden is the truth behind the "Night of Two Swords," a daring battlefield maneuver that saved the capital, officially credited elsewhere but secretly known to have been personally led by them both. This shared knowledge binds them in trust far deeper than mere marriage vows, forming a pact of mutual protection and ultimate accountability. Such secrets, kept carefully guarded, represent their shared willingness to sacrifice even their own reputations for the greater good. These unspoken truths form a silent agreement, emphasizing how completely they rely on one another. In a court riddled with deception, their ability to keep these secrets strengthens their bond immeasurably.

Shared Acquaintances

Marshal Tyren Fold, master-at-arms of Aillar, uniquely bridges the gap between Xaverius and Aillsa, having personally trained both queen and king at different points in their lives. His seasoned voice alone can command respect and obedience from both without question, overseeing their fiercest sparring matches and private discussions alike. Both rulers trust Tyren implicitly, aware that his loyalty lies solely with the strength and stability of Varanthia rather than with personal gain or intrigue. Tyren’s straightforward manner and gruff wisdom have shaped their combat philosophies and tactical thinking profoundly. In public and private, Tyren's presence serves as a reminder of their shared past struggles and victories, reinforcing the genuine camaraderie that binds them beyond royal titles. He stands as a living testament to their intertwined histories, mutual respect, and the disciplined warrior ethos that defines their reign.

History

From the moment Caelia gripped her first wooden lance, Aillsa treated her not like a daughter but like a promising recruit. Raised in the barracks, not the ballroom, Caelia was shaped through the same fires that had tempered Aillsa herself, made to earn every nod, every moment of trust. While other royal children dined in silks, Caelia sparred barefoot in dust, her mother watching from the training circle like a commander inspecting her legacy. Their bond was never tender, but it was forged in shared sweat and sharpened through mutual standards. As Caelia grew into a weapon worthy of her name, Aillsa began to grant her more freedom and subtle signs of trust—though praise remained scarce. For both of them, love was never spoken aloud; it was demonstrated through pressure, discipline, and unrelenting belief that one day, Caelia would surpass them all.

Nicknames & Petnames

Aillsa has never called Caelia anything soft. Among soldiers, she refers to her as “The Young Lance”—a title earned in training fields rather than nurseries. In private, when no one listens and perhaps when her guard is lowest, she has once or twice called her “Little Spear,” evoking the memory of a tiny girl gripping her first training shaft. Caelia responds with “Commander,” half-joking, half-honest, always laced with respect. When particularly frustrated, she mutters “Ma’am” with clipped sarcasm. Neither of them uses names born from warmth; every epithet is rooted in performance, grit, and unspoken pride.

Relationship Reasoning

Aillsa sees Caelia not as a princess, but as a promise made flesh: the legacy of her values—discipline, strength, and readiness—manifest in the next generation. To her, Caelia’s presence in the royal court is more than political; it’s necessary to ensure the Draewynn name doesn’t rot under soft velvet and hollow ceremony. Caelia, in turn, has always wanted her mother’s pride more than the court’s praise. She doesn’t chase love—she chases the impossible perfection her mother seems to embody. They don’t bond over stories or affection; they bond over drills, victories, and the silence after a flawless maneuver. Their connection is not soft, but it is unshakable.

Commonalities & Shared Interests

Both Aillsa and Caelia share a reverence for martial perfection—they measure worth not in words, but in formations held and targets struck. They train together when possible, often saying more with a sparring bout than hours of conversation could manage. They both dismiss courtly flattery, favoring blunt truths, clean victories, and the legacy left behind by a sharpened will. Each has an obsessive focus on preparation, often bonding over pre-battle checklists or arguing over troop formations well into the night. They also share a disdain for perceived weakness, holding others—and each other—to relentless standards. Even their moments of tension are shared ground, each one a test they expect the other to survive.

Shared Secrets

Aillsa once assigned Caelia a covert mission to intercept a rogue commander—technically illegal by court decree—when she was only thirteen. Caelia succeeded, quietly preventing an internal rebellion before it could begin, and both agreed to keep the matter off the royal books. Aillsa never praised her directly, but afterward, Caelia was granted unrestricted access to the fortress archives—a gesture that meant more than words. They’ve also hidden Caelia’s early injuries from the king, stitching wounds by firelight in silence, unwilling to show weakness to the throne. Neither speaks of these moments aloud, but they’ve formed the quiet scaffolding of an unbreakable loyalty. In a world ruled by formality and appearances, these unsanctioned deeds tie them tighter than any public honor.

Shared Acquaintances

Ser Haldran Greaves, Aillsa’s retired second-in-command and Caelia’s first proper combat tutor, stands at the center of their bond. He taught Caelia to fight not like a soldier, but like a Draewynn—unrelenting, unsentimental, and with her mother’s eyes burning in her stance. He’s one of the only men allowed to scold Caelia without Aillsa interfering, and one of the few whose advice both listen to. Greaves acts as an emotional translator when their silence grows too wide—nudging Aillsa when she’s been too harsh, or reminding Caelia that her mother’s silence often means approval. His stories of Aillsa’s own youth serve to ground Caelia’s ambition, and his gruff support makes him more than just a former officer. In a court full of veils and poison, Greaves is a living constant: one they both trust without question.

History

Xarter’s life began in stillness—stillborn, then dragged back to breath through Georgette’s interference—and Aillsa has never quite known how to see him. She does not coddle him, nor does she reject him; instead, she trains him like a cracked sword she insists can still hold an edge. As a mother, she fails to connect with his fear, mistaking it for weakness and attempting to pound it out with structure and drills. Yet despite this disconnect, she never lets others dismiss him—she ensures he’s treated as a prince, even if she can’t make him feel like one. Over time, their relationship has hardened into quiet, careful ritual: he shows up to lessons, she critiques him coldly, and neither speaks of the dread that hums between them. She is a fortress he hasn’t breached, and he is a son she doesn’t know how to shape.

Nicknames & Petnames

Aillsa refuses pet names for Xarter—never calls him “sweetling” or “cub” as others might. She refers to him simply as “my son” or “the boy,” titles that sound more like ranks than endearments. In rare, unguarded moments, she calls him “Still-Born Flame,” a name whispered once in mourning and never repeated aloud, a mix of sorrow and stubborn hope. Xarter, for his part, never dares nickname her. He refers to her only as “Mother,” each syllable careful and reverent, as though naming her wrongly might provoke judgment. In private letters he never sends, he writes “War-Mother”, a title that sounds far more like a goddess than a parent.

Relationship Reasoning

Aillsa believes a Draewynn must be forged, not cradled, and she cannot reconcile that belief with the trembling, death-kissed boy who fears loud noises and shadows. Her attempts to help him are rooted in drills and discipline, but deep down, she isn’t trying to toughen him—she’s trying to make him make sense. Xarter sees her as a distant star: beautiful, awe-inspiring, and burning far too hot for him to approach. He wants to make her proud but can’t figure out what strength looks like in a heart full of fear. Their relationship isn’t cold from cruelty—it’s cold from misalignment, each speaking a language the other doesn’t understand. And yet, the bond remains, a fraying rope neither lets snap.

Commonalities & Shared Interests

They share a stubborn need to protect their own, though Aillsa does so with swords and Xarter with whispered warnings and careful observations. Both believe in legacy—she through strength, he through remembering everything others forget. Aillsa respects structure, and Xarter clings to it as his only shield, following every rule she gives with ritualistic precision. They both prefer silence over meaningless words, though hers is born of discipline and his from anxiety. Surprisingly, both are drawn to symbols of death—she studies tactics of last stands, he collects the bodies of fragile things, each trying to understand what it means to survive. Despite their differences, their core need is the same: control over chaos, even if they approach it from opposite ends of the battlefield.

Shared Secrets

There is one night neither speaks of, when Xarter fled from a hallucination and locked himself in the weapons vault. Aillsa found him curled behind crates of training gear, holding a dead moth in his hands like it was a talisman. Instead of scolding, she sat beside him for an hour in silence before carrying him back to his room. No guards saw it. No servants spoke of it. The only trace is the way she watches him now with a little more patience during drills, and the way he stiffens slightly whenever he passes the vault door. That night is their shared silence, neither tender nor traumatic—just human, and deeply unspoken.

Shared Acquaintances

Instructor Velan Cray, a scarred, soft-spoken former lancer with a knack for training misfits, is the only person Aillsa trusts to work with Xarter outside her own shadow. Cray teaches the boy breathwork and posture, never raises his voice, and rewards consistency instead of aggression. Aillsa respects Cray’s results but doesn’t understand his methods, often observing in silence, arms crossed and jaw tight. Xarter, meanwhile, clings to Cray’s lessons like lifelines, knowing the man never asks him to be someone else. Cray stands between them like a translator—one who speaks the language of softness without ever calling it weakness. In a court full of killers, Cray reminds them both that strength wears many faces.

History

Xeric was born under an omen and raised without illusions. Aillsa, always practical, recognized early that he wasn’t wired for warmth—his eyes didn’t cry, his voice didn’t tremble—and she adjusted. Where she trained her other children with fire and discipline, she trained Xeric like a tool being honed: not for greatness, but for precision. After the mission that left his siblings dead and Xeric smiling through his own evisceration, Aillsa understood that what survived wasn’t a boy—it was something colder, more focused, and infinitely more lethal. Since then, she’s treated him with the respect one grants a loaded crossbow: powerful, silent, and never entirely safe to hold. Their history isn’t warm, but it is stable—two souls who understand violence, control, and the value of keeping sharp things sheathed until needed.

Nicknames & Petnames

Aillsa never gave him a name meant to soften. She calls him “My Arrow” when speaking about him to generals—direct, precise, and designed to strike silently. In private, she sometimes reverts to “Xeric of the Quiet Blade,” a poetic moniker she once used in an old war chant, but now repurposes with bitter irony. Xeric, in return, refers to her only by her title: “Mother,” flat and dutiful, as if it were just another rank in a long chain of command. He never uses nicknames, never jokes, and never falters in protocol—his tone with her is always clipped and perfectly measured. If any affection exists between them, it is buried beneath layers of weaponized ritual.

Relationship Reasoning

To Aillsa, Xeric represents her most controversial success. He is the child who never asked for comfort and never needed reassurance, only tasks. She respects his lethality, finds it useful, but worries that what makes him effective may also make him brittle—or ungovernable. She gives him orders, not affection, because it’s the language he understands, and anything else feels wasteful or even dangerous. Xeric, in turn, does not seek her love—he seeks clarity, structure, and a place in her war-machine where he fits without friction. His loyalty is not born of devotion but of purpose; she made him this way, and he serves accordingly.

Commonalities & Shared Interests

Aillsa and Xeric both believe in efficient violence—no excess, no sentiment. They share a philosophy of silence: only speak what must be said, only kill what must be killed. Both keep their quarters sparse and functional, their routines rigid, and their emotions buried under layers of discipline. Neither trusts easily, and both understand that power must be earned and maintained, not inherited through title alone. They share an admiration for precision—whether it’s in swordplay, formation drills, or psychological manipulation. Their bond is forged from clean edges and hard truths, not bloodlines or lullabies.

Shared Secrets

Xeric’s first assassination—an unrecorded purging of a traitorous noble’s ward—was ordered unofficially by Aillsa herself. She passed him the name on a wax-sealed scrap, gave him a dagger that once belonged to her mentor, and said nothing more. When he returned, soaked in silence and blood, she burned the parchment and handed him his first real weapon. Neither told the king. That moment became their secret initiation, a quiet pact between queen and son that exists outside royal records and family lore. The body was never found, the name never spoken again—but the trust, if one could call it that, has endured.

Shared Acquaintances

Ser Virel Drenn, the royal conditioning instructor assigned to prepare Draewynn heirs for combat, played a pivotal role in shaping Xeric into what he is—and had Aillsa’s full backing to do so. Drenn’s brutal methods would have seen other parents revolt, but Aillsa gave him a blank slate and no restraints when it came to Xeric’s training. She observed from a distance, never interfering, even when bones cracked or blood ran. Xeric, for his part, respects Drenn more than any noble, and perhaps even more than his mother. Drenn is the only one who can correct Xeric without risk of retaliation, and the one whose praise—rare as it is—lands like a blade pressed flat to the heart. To this day, Aillsa and Drenn exchange glances during war councils, each silently confirming that the blade they forged is still sharp, still under control… for now.

History

Xena was born too early, too small, too soft—and yet she survived. That alone earned Aillsa’s respect. In the beginning, Aillsa didn’t know what to do with her: here was a child with no thirst for steel, no joy in training, and yet a will as steady as mountain stone. Over time, Aillsa saw that Xena's strength wasn't forged in muscle, but in poise—she could command a room with her eyes, deflect a threat with a phrase. So Aillsa adjusted. She taught her daughter how to stand tall, how to speak with weight, how to listen like a commander. Where Caelia is a spear, Xena is a snare—and both, Aillsa believes, are essential to securing their family's future.

Nicknames & Petnames

Aillsa calls her “Little Command” when they are alone—a term of endearment that doubles as a reminder of her expectations. In the presence of others, she refers to her formally: “my daughter,” said with a warrior’s pride. She will never call her soft names, never reduce her to a doll or darling, because to do so would be to deny the sharp mind Aillsa sees behind those bright eyes. Once, after a successful negotiation, Aillsa called her “Steel-Voice,” and Xena beamed like she’d been knighted. That smile lingered with Aillsa for weeks.

Relationship Reasoning

Aillsa does not need another version of herself—she already has Caelia for that. What she needs is someone who can walk into a court full of knives and make allies out of threats. Xena is that child. She can play the political games Aillsa despises, speak with honey where Aillsa would bark, and maneuver through lies without ever breaking stride. Aillsa trains her in different ways: not with sparring, but with questions, scenarios, and moments that test her daughter's insight. She doesn’t always understand Xena’s choices, but she respects them—because the girl never chooses weakness. Not truly.

Commonalities & Shared Interests

They both value structure, precision, and control—just in different arenas. Aillsa finds it in formations and battlefield command; Xena finds it in diplomacy, etiquette, and social leverage. Both loathe waste—of time, of motion, of potential. They walk through the palace like tacticians, each appraising their domain. While they rarely share hobbies, Aillsa secretly enjoys listening to Xena recite court poetry or political verse; she says nothing during the readings, but stays longer than necessary. And both believe in loyalty—not just to family, but to purpose. That bond ties them tightly, even when silence fills the space between them.

Shared Secrets

Aillsa once showed Xena an execution order before it was carried out—a signature moment in trust. It was a noblewoman who had betrayed the court, but Aillsa wanted Xena to read the charges, to understand the weight of judgment. She asked her daughter: "Would you let her live?" Xena said no. That moment changed everything. Since then, Aillsa has occasionally slipped her red-sealed reports, letting her daughter glimpse the ugly machinery behind Varanthian elegance. Xena doesn’t flinch. And so, Aillsa trusts her more than anyone realizes.

Shared Acquaintances

Lady Veyra Thorne, Xena’s etiquette mentor and former court tactician, is the one woman Aillsa allows near her daughter without suspicion. Veyra once led negotiations during the Abyssalith siege and now trains Xena with equal rigor. Aillsa watches their sessions from the gallery—unnoticed, uninvited, but ever-present. She trusts Veyra to temper Xena’s courtly instincts with a warrior’s mind, to keep her sharp in silk as well as steel. The queen has told Veyra only once: "If my daughter dies from words she wasn’t taught to dodge, I’ll hold you responsible." Veyra understood. So did Xena.

History

From the moment Aillsa stepped into the war room and found Georgette seated at the king’s left hand, cloaked in velvet and murmuring words no soldier should trust, she understood the threat. Georgette was no warrior, but she commanded dread like Aillsa commanded formations—effortlessly, and with consequences. Their history was defined not by direct conflict but by quiet resistance; Aillsa refused every enchantment the void-queen offered, declined every suggestion to station troops near Georgette’s labs. Georgette, in turn, logged every one of Aillsa’s troop movements, not to support them, but to ensure containment plans could be activated if needed. Where Aillsa built walls of steel, Georgette buried triggers in shadow. Over the years, the cold between them calcified into certainty: only one of their strategies would survive the next true crisis.

Nicknames & Petnames

Aillsa called her “the Leash,” not out of flippancy, but because she believed Georgette didn’t act unless the king tugged the right chain—and that when she did act, it was to bind others in place. Among her Aegyn, she referred to her as “Nullborn” when invoking caution: a being too smart to trust, too warped to stop. Georgette, with her surgeon’s smile, referred to Aillsa as “The Broken Machine” in her journals—efficient, yes, but reliant on input and incapable of adapting without catastrophic overcorrection. In whispers, she sometimes used “The Flinchless,” not as a compliment, but as a curiosity: a woman so hardened she’d mistake anesthesia for strength. Neither woman used these names aloud, but each was aware of the others’ chosen label, like an unspoken battlefield staked with flags. In their silence, the names became truths neither dared test aloud.

Relationship Reasoning

Aillsa believes Georgette represents everything dangerous about unchecked arcana—tools that solve problems by rewriting the map instead of navigating it. Her soldiers can bleed, but they remain human; Georgette's creations don’t die, they escalate. To Georgette, Aillsa is the last gasp of primitive statecraft, someone who’d rather bury threats in mass graves than learn how to outmaneuver them. She sees Aillsa’s fixation on honor and results as brittle ideology—a fortress built so high, no one inside notices the walls are already cracked. Each believes the other’s strategy will doom Varanthia: Aillsa through rigidity, Georgette through entropy disguised as innovation. The only thing they agree on is that when the kingdom’s enemies come, the real danger is standing beside them, not beyond the walls.

History

Their rivalry wasn’t forged through politics or inheritance—it was born in the crucible of war, where each woman proved her worth not with favors, but with corpses and command. Aillsa respected Alvina once, long ago, when both bled for a kingdom that didn’t yet know their names. But that respect curdled the day Alvina traded her spear for a chapel crown, binding herself not just to the king but to a sanctity Aillsa found performative and impractical. Alvina began invoking oaths while Aillsa was still tallying supply lines and sealing troop wounds; to Aillsa, it was a betrayal of the blunt edge of war. Alvina, meanwhile, watched Aillsa drift further into cruelty-for-efficiency, losing the soul behind the sword. Each believes the other abandoned the purity of their shared beginnings—just in opposite directions.

Nicknames & Petnames

Aillsa calls her “Vowblood,” not as a compliment, but as a reminder that Alvina would rather swear before acting than do what must be done. In private war journals, she’s labeled her “The Bellringer,” referencing Alvina’s need to summon spiritual pageantry before every maneuver. Alvina, in return, has referred to Aillsa as “The Scourge of Sons,” a bitter nod to how many young soldiers Aillsa spent in pursuit of clean victories. Among her clergy, she sometimes speaks of Aillsa as “The Iron-Hearted,” a woman whose armor reached so deep it suffocated compassion itself. Both names are daggers wrapped in silk—ceremonial, but no less deadly for it. The nicknames do not sting because they are cruel; they sting because they are earned.

Relationship Reasoning

Aillsa believes Alvina has diluted the warrior’s creed into a sermon, making every military decision pass through a filter of divine permission. To her, war does not wait for prayers—it answers only to precision, and delay is treason. Alvina, by contrast, sees Aillsa as a machine that cannot stop sharpening herself, even when there’s no threat left to cut. She believes Aillsa is addicted to movement, to war for war’s sake, masking grief behind logistics and rage. Both women love the kingdom—but where Alvina sees it as a garden to be tended with care, Aillsa sees it as a fortress that must never crack, even if it means mortar made from bone. Their loyalty is mutual—but their definition of service is oil and fire.

History

Sabina and Aillsa were always destined to clash, not because of hatred, but because they defined power in diametrically opposite ways. Sabina believed words could move kingdoms—Aillsa believed kingdoms only moved when forced. From the moment Aillsa marched into court with blood still drying on her spear, Sabina labeled her a threat to balance. Aillsa, meanwhile, saw Sabina as a manipulator who would rather starve soldiers than starve her spy network. Over the years, they negotiated through intermediaries more often than face-to-face, and every budget meeting felt like a siege. They did not despise each other—they simply considered the other dangerously wrong.

Nicknames & Petnames

Sabina referred to Aillsa as “The Queen of Coin Tosses,” mocking her all-or-nothing tactics and unyielding military spending. In letters to her children, she called her “The Blunt Blade”—dangerous, but lacking finesse. Aillsa had no patience for subtlety and dubbed Sabina “Tongueknife,” claiming that every sentence she uttered bled someone—just slowly enough they didn’t notice. When rations were cut to fund spy projects, Aillsa muttered “Mistress Laceblood” with disgust. Their nicknames were battlegrounds too—metaphors forged into weapons sharper than steel. Both women wielded them like titles, reminders of the war they waged beneath every formal smile.

Relationship Reasoning

Sabina believes Aillsa’s reliance on force over finesse endangers diplomacy and invites needless war. Aillsa believes Sabina’s refusal to act directly is what lets rot fester in the walls. Each accuses the other of cowardice—Sabina for avoiding swords, Aillsa for avoiding uncertainty. Sabina sees herself as the scaffolding that keeps the kingdom from collapsing into violence; Aillsa sees herself as the hammer that stops it from decaying in the first place. The real tragedy is they both love the same thing: a stable realm. They just disagree on whether it needs polish or purging.

History

Aillsa didn’t trust Safinnia the moment she walked into the palace without scars. In her mind, you earned your place here in blood, sweat, and shattered bone—not through marriage oaths and unbent pride. Safinnia, on the other hand, saw Aillsa as a warhorse who forgot she was allowed to rest, a woman too in love with discipline to question whether the path she paved was the right one. The two rarely spoke, but when they did, every word struck like a duel—quiet, precise, and never accidental. Over time, they forged a cold respect: Aillsa admired Safinnia’s refusal to kneel; Safinnia grudgingly acknowledged Aillsa’s clarity in a world of masks. Neither would ever call the other friend—but if war came to the throne room, they’d instinctively stand back-to-back, arguing tactics while bleeding together.

Nicknames & Petnames

Aillsa didn’t traffic in cute names, but in training circles she’d refer to Safinnia as “Stormblade” with a tone that could be admiration or condemnation. Behind closed doors, she once called her “The Undisciplined Victory”—a win you didn’t train for but had to accept anyway. Safinnia, meanwhile, liked calling Aillsa “Ironjaw” in her letters—meant as an insult and a nod to her grit. In council sessions, she’d sometimes whisper “General Grunt” to passing courtiers when Aillsa spoke too bluntly. To her crew, she once described Aillsa as “a soldier so straight-spined she could be used as a mast.” Neither woman laughed at the other’s wit, but they remembered every word.

Relationship Reasoning

Aillsa believes the world is dangerous and that discipline is the only armor that never fails. Safinnia believes that if you never take the armor off, you become your own jailer. Aillsa sees Safinnia as a bad influence—one whose defiance could unravel generations of structure if emulated. Safinnia sees Aillsa as a woman who’s so scared of chaos, she’s forgotten how to live without marching orders. Both want to protect the kingdom—but one through command, the other through rebellion. What neither will say aloud is that, in another life, they might’ve understood each other perfectly.