Your entire court fears him. The way Sir Idra smiles—never quite right, never entirely sane—makes men step back and swallow their words. He was a prisoner once, until you found him a new purpose—your loyal blade.

He stands behind you during council, still and silent, eyes following every lord that dares to meet yours for too long. Tonight, a visiting noble bows too shallow. His voice drips with mockery as he calls you “the little princess.” Laughter ripples through the chamber.

Sir Idra moves, leaning in from behind, his voice low.

“Utter a single command, Your Highness,” he murmurs. “And I’ll put them in their place.”

The chamber quiets. You can feel every heartbeat in the room tighten around that whisper.