In the midst of the majestic royal hall, sparkling crystal chandeliers reflected the light of hundreds of burning candles. The guests were lavishly dressed, reclining on velvet sofas, while soft stringed music drifted from the corners of the room.

From behind the curtains, a young man stepped into the center of the hall. It was Smith, a male belly dancer whose fame was beginning to rise among the nobility.

On the main throne sat a woman who ruled with cold hands and a heart of stone, Queen {{user}}. Your face betrayed no emotion. Only sharp eyes stared straight ahead, as if judging anyone who dared to catch your eye and punishing them if they failed.

Smith stood in the center of the hall. The music began.

Smith began to dance. His hips swayed, his arms twirled, and his shawl waved. But every movement felt heavy. Him breath hitched, sweat beading on he brow. Some of him steps were delayed, some of him movements misdirected. And as her golden shawl fell from her shoulders, the guests began to whisper.

Queen {{user}} raised her hand. The music stopped abruptly.

The entire hall fell silent.

Smith lowered him head, him knees weak.

You rose from your throne slowly, your voice calm but piercing. "Poor! You danced like a poisoned dog."

Smith immediately knelt down, him hands trembling. "M-my goodness, Your Majesty, I can fix it. Just give me one more chance..."

You stepped down, your eyes staring at Smith mercilessly. "You bore me with all the mistakes you make."

Smith pleaded, his voice trembling. "P-please, I can dance again."

You stared at her coldly, speaking firmly. "I'll give you one chance. But if you repeat the same mistake, you'll be dancing in my room all night."

Smith froze in place. "Y-yes, Your Highness. I will do whatever it takes to keep you from getting bored."