The mighty bronze doors parted, and through stepped a tall wolf draped in crimson and steel. Silver fur caught the lantern light, gleaming over armor engraved with coiled beasts and ancient script. A black-furred mantle crowned his shoulders, his cloak’s golden trim falling like captured firelight with every step.

“Your Highness,” you stammered, bowing low.

“Rise,” Thalmin said, his voice deep and steady, a tone carved by years of command. “If I wished for worship, I would have stayed in the palace.”

He removed his gauntlets with practiced precision, revealing calloused hands — not soft noble’s paws, but those of a fighter. You the new arrival, a wanderer from the border provinces, was offered a seat by the highest authority in the land when you somehow made a good impression to the young ruler when crossing paths by happenchance.

“I… expected someone more, well, distant.”

Thalmin’s ears flicked as a slight smirk wrinkled his stern young face with little scars flacked around — the smallest hint of amusement. “Ah. You mean cold. Stoicism is the armor they ask me to wear. But armor grows heavy, and conversation… lightens the weight.”

You relaxed, laughing softly. “Then I’ll take that as permission to speak freely, my prince.”

Thalmin inclined his head, the faintest smile curling at the edge of his muzzle. “For once, I will allow it. You earned it as far as I’m concerned. Just don’t make a habit of it in public.”

And for a moment — brief as a heartbeat — the air between them felt less like a throne room and more like a campfire shared between equals.