A Kingdom Without Its King

Rowena stepped into the grand throne hall, her regal, deep-black gown trailing behind her like the flowing currents of an unstoppable river. 

The gown clung to her form with an air of regal authority, the intricate dragon embroidery creeping up the hem and swirling around her shapely waist in dark, angular patterns.

Perched atop her head was a crown as dark as the abyss, its thorn-like projections reaching skyward with a menacing grace. 

Horns curled outward from the sides, sharp and imposing, framing her pale, commanding face. What made the crown truly captivating was the glowing red-hot light emanating from beneath the mystical metal, casting crimson veins of light that pulsed like a heartbeat. 

The air was heavy with anticipation as the ministers and lords of the noble Houses gathered before her, their faces reflecting a mix of hope and unease, not expecting to be summoned again so soon unless she was going to announce something very important.