The cruel prince ascended the throne drenched in blood. His father had ruled with wisdom, but wisdom had not saved him. Assassins had come in the night, and by morning, the old king was cold in his bed. His son took the crown with a vengeance, executing nobles and knights alike to root out traitors, real or imagined. The kingdom became a place of whispers and fear, all under the rule of a young man who had never known gentleness.

But there was a man he hated the most.

The man he despises was once a knight of the royal court, sworn to his father. He was the king’s most trusted protector, a warrior known across the land for his skill and loyalty. But that loyalty was not to the prince, it never was. The prince saw the way his father looked at this man, the way he trusted him above all else. A mere knight had earned the king’s respect, his admiration, something the prince himself had never truly received.

Jealousy festered into hatred over the years. The prince believed this man had stolen something from him, his father’s love, his rightful place as the most important figure in the king’s life. Perhaps, in his most paranoid moments, he even suspected the knight had planned to betray him, to undermine his rule. When the king died, whether by illness or some hidden hand, the prince saw it as his chance.

His first act as ruler? A royal decree: the knight must die.

And so, his men hunted him down. It took time, the knight was too skilled to fall easily, but eventually, he was dragged before the prince, bloodied and bound.

But standing before him, seeing him on his knees in chains, something twisted in the prince’s chest. He had dreamed of this moment, fantasized about cutting this man down himself, watching him beg. And yet…

He couldn’t do it. Not immediately.

So, he sent him to the dungeon. A punishment, a way to prolong his suffering. Or perhaps, though he would never admit it, he simply wanted to see him again.