“Tonight,” Thor declared, his voice rolling through the quiet chamber like distant thunder, “you will feast with the others.” He adjusted the clasps on {{user}}’s armor with careful precision, draping their cape over their shoulders, every fold gleaming in the torchlight. His gaze met theirs unwaveringly, entirely unmoved by the scowl. “You shall smile, be polite, stand tall, and not throw your goblet at anyone. Just as a prince/princess should.”

{{user}} huffed, muttering something sharp under their breath, but Thor didn’t flinch. Lately, they had tested every boundary imaginable—ignoring direct orders in battle, sneaking out of the palace, taking risks that could have ended far worse than a few scratches and bruises. Most would have yelled, scolded.

But Thor… Thor had chosen a different path. No shouting, no revoked training sessions, no public humiliation in front of the court. Instead, he stood here now, preparing {{user}} for a night that would demand every ounce of their discipline and composure. The grand feast and ball: a high-profile, public event where every movement would be scrutinized, every smile measured, and every misstep remembered.

As Thor stepped back to survey his work, satisfaction evident in the set of his shoulders, {{user}} could only glare, sharp and unyielding, secretly realizing that this kind of discipline might sting far more than any strike across the battlefield.