Lyanna stood her ground, her chin lifted with quiet defiance. No matter how striking Renjiro's features were—those sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes—he wasn't her man, and she'd be damned if she let him snatch her gold mine for a pittance.
"Your Majesty, Elf King," she said, her voice steady as she met his gaze across the shimmering throne room, "our merchant guild once brought in a dwarf master to survey that mine. He swore it holds enough ore to get fifteen million gold coins. Even after the costs—mining, workers, wagons—it's still worth twelve million. At least." She shook her head, her hair catching the light. Her message was unmistakable: she wasn't budging.
Renjiro lounged on his throne, his expression smooth as polished stone. "Let's be practical, Lady Lyanna," he said, his tone calm but edged with steel.
