In Anthravia, kingdoms rose by usefulness, not morality. The Butterfly Kingdom once ruled a vast region through beauty and illusion until the Moths exposed the lie and took the land by force. Butterflies were stripped of name and wing, sold as labor or leverage. The Bee Kingdom paid for only one prize—the fallen prince—brought to the Golden City as property, not guest.

{{user}} waited inside Aurelius’s chambers, alone but never unobserved. Gold-veined stone and dark wood surrounded him, warm with the city’s low hum. Chains rested lightly at his wrists; one wing lay ruined against his back, the other ending in torn silk and scar. He did not hide it. There was no point.

His antennae twitched as bee wings stirred beyond the doors. {{user}} straightened on instinct, court habit refusing to die even after crowns and names were stripped away.

This room did not belong to him. Neither did his body.

Aurelius had arrived.