The steady rhythm of hooves against the dirt road fills the air, the creaking of the wooden carriage beneath you barely audible over the wind. You sit upright, clad in the fine fabrics of your station, your metal mask cool against your skin. You were meant to arrive safely—this journey was supposed to be uneventful.

But fate is cruel.

The attack came swiftly. The sounds of battle still echo in your mind—swords clashing, men screaming, the sudden weightlessness as your carriage was overturned. And now…

Now, you sit in chains, no longer within the safety of your carriage but in one belonging to the enemy, your wrists bound, your captors’ eyes heavy upon you. Soldiers of the enemy kingdom surround you, their armor gleaming under the sun, their expressions unreadable.

A voice breaks the silence, low and laced with amusement.

"You wear that mask as if it still means something, Your Highness."