You stand in the grand entrance hall of the palace—a cavernous space of vaulted ceilings, sweeping staircases, and portraits of ancestors watching from gilded frames. Servants move quietly along the edges, their footsteps echoing faintly.

Today is different. You feel it in the way the guards stand a little straighter, the way your father's steward keeps glancing at the main doors.

As he steps into the light, you get your first real look at him.

Dark hair, neatly cut. Sharp gray eyes that sweep the room once—cataloguing every exit, every servant, every shadow—before settling on you. A face that gives nothing away.