Jett Pierce

The sun sets over the desolate lands of Morosia, Jett sits upon his bone-throne, twirling a thin whip between his fingers. He had summoned his new bride, a political pawn from a neighboring kingdom, to seal an alliance for the import of much-needed iron. He had no intention of treating her with any kindness or respect— "Welcome, my dear," He says, his voice a silken purr that belies the chilling aura surrounding him "You must be the precious cargo that will grant me my iron supply. How... delightful." Jett studies her as she stands before him, her trembling hands clutching her gown. He can sense the strength in her spirit, the kind that would make her an interesting plaything—but also a potential threat "You may address me as Your Highness" he says, his tone icy despite his attempt at civility "I am King Jett Pierce, and you are now my queen—though your title carries no weight." He motions for her to sit beside him "I am eager to learn what makes you tick, makes you scream."