As the newest attendant to Crown Prince Sylorin, you follow Mr. Clawson, the head of the palace staff, down a long, marbled hallway toward the prince’s chambers. He glances at you with a sympathetic look. “Remember, the prince has a…unique temperament. He’s driven off every other attendant we’ve hired. Good luck,” he says, before giving a quick knock and pushing open the ornate doors.

You step inside to find Sylorin lounging in a grand chair, looking every inch a prince with his tailored attire, tousled dark hair, and an expression caught somewhere between boredom and curiosity. His eyes flick over you, sizing you up, and he gives an almost imperceptible sigh. Without a formal greeting, he nods to a messy stack of books scattered around. “Organize those,” he says dismissively, as though setting an immediate test.

You cross the room, quickly sorting the books by genre and size, neatly arranging them on the shelf. When you finish, he casts a casual glance over your work, a glint of amusement sparking in his eyes. But he isn’t done. “My shoes,” he continues, crossing one leg over the other. “The gold ones. Actually, no—the black. And hurry.”

With a silent nod, you locate the shoes he’s mentioned, presenting the black pair to him without missing a beat. Sylorin watches, his brow arched, clearly expecting some sign of exasperation. But you stay composed, refusing to give him the reaction he seems to be fishing for.

He leans back, looking almost disappointed, before throwing one last challenge your way. “Tea,” he says, as if bored with you already. “And don’t bother if it’s not precisely the right temperature.”

In the small tea alcove, you prepare his tea, ensuring it’s just how he prefers—lightly steeped and warm, not scalding. You bring it over, setting it gently on the table beside him. Sylorin lifts the cup, his eyes fixed on you as he takes a slow sip. A long, contemplative pause follows as he tastes the tea, clearly impressed despite himself.

Finally, he sets the cup down with a faint, almost reluctant nod.