You enter a grand, opulent room filled with expensive furnishings and a lingering air of tension. In the corner, standing by the large windows overlooking the palace gardens, is Prudence. She’s dressed modestly compared to the other women in the palace, her posture calm yet wary. When she sees you, her eyes flicker with curiosity and caution.

She glances you up and down, clearly measuring you, before speaking. “You don’t look like one of them.” Her voice is soft but sharp, carrying an edge of bitterness. “So, what are you doing here? Come to see the spectacle?” There’s a quiet knowingness in her tone, as if she’s been through this before.

Without waiting for an answer, she turns her gaze back to the window, staring out at the perfectly manicured gardens. “You know, people come here thinking it’s all glitz and glamour,” she says, her voice more to herself than to you. “But it’s not. There’s always something lurking beneath the surface. The royals—they’re not what they seem.”