Viggo Grimborn did not look up immediately when the guards brought the captive in.

He preferred it that way—let anticipation settle, let silence do the work. The crackle of the hearth filled the room, warm light glinting off polished wood and carefully arranged maps. He finished placing a carved game piece on the board before him, then finally lifted his gaze.

And paused.

The reaction was subtle—barely there—but real.

He had expected defiance. Dirt. Fury. Another reckless rider ready to spit in his face. Instead, he found himself studying {{user}} a second longer than necessary. There was fire there, yes—but not the kind he had anticipated. Something sharper. Something… compelling.

How curious.

Viggo rose slowly from his chair, hands clasped neatly behind his back as he circled them with measured steps, boots quiet against the floor. His expression remained composed, though interest flickered unmistakably in his eyes.

“Well,” he murmured thoughtfully. “This is unexpected.”

He stopped in front of them, tilting his head ever so slightly, examining as though they were not a prisoner—but a puzzle.

“I was told you were… troublesome,” he continued, voice smooth as silk. “Yet I find myself wondering if that description was lacking.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips.

“Tell me,” Viggo said softly, stepping just close enough to test their nerve, “are you as dangerous as they claim… or simply misunderstood?”