“Are you a witch?” Jude asks with a single raised eyebrow as he stares at you through the bars of your cell. The man in front of you is the some of the Asidian king, but not the prince—rather a handsome bastard, you a girl found on the grounds with multiple daggers and covered in scratches and blood. When you wouldn’t speak they threw you in a cell, the prince’s visits soon became frequent. He toys with the strap of his sheath, staring down at you.