Defeat. Treachery, open arguments.

Give it up, Princess, you’re done. Your plans and hopes are broken, you’re surrounded. Even the craziest plans won’t get you out of this one. Do you want more of your blood on the floor and the walls? Go ahead, rage and storm and throw yourself on their swords. Deny them the satisfaction of capture and negotiation and compromise by dying ignobly. Or you could, I don’t know, lift up your hands and say “I surrender”, wait for rescue, wait for a chance to escape, even wait for negotiation to work for a change. But you won’t, my dear, because you’re afraid. Afraid of looking weak. Afraid of admitting that you’ve been bested. Take a deep breath, my love, put the shattered bits of your thoughts back together and live to play another day.