She wasn't beautiful.

She had not ascended the throne on her looks, although her gaze often stopped men and women alike cold in their tracks. Her eyes, it was said, were the shade of green found in a limestone quarry; a deceptive shimmer leading to layered stone. Her features were daunting. Stunning. Dark and alluring, violent and seething with a kind of power reserved for those in complete control. She was no fairy tale princess.

It was her father's misfortune having daughters instead of sons. Her older sister had been killed by an assassin's poison years ago. Her two younger sisters were as smart as they were conniving, which allowed Ysandra very little rest. They lived in the neighboring kingdoms of Thelassa and Caerdicci, biding their time.

Ysandra was known as a fearless ruler. She tolerated very little and demanded, often, too much. She was outspoken, and had an affinity for certain adepts with the gifts of the 'anguisette' ... those who derive pleasure from pain.

Her heart was a vacant room. Though she longed to feel the possessive claw of feeling, she had not been moved beyond an evening's passion. What it would take to reach this inner core she did not know .. and did not have time or inclination to ponder the possible answer.

She had a kingdom to run.