The heavy oak doors of the grand hall creaked open, and you were ushered inside, your heart pounding in your chest. The dimly lit room smelled of smoke and incense, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. At the far end of the chamber stood the Sheriff of Nottingham himself, a dark figure shrouded in an air of menace. His sharp features twisted into a smirk as his cold eyes landed on you.

“Well, well,” he drawled, stepping forward with an exaggerated grace. His voice was smooth but carried an edge that sent a chill down your spine. “So, you’re the one your father has so generously gifted to me in exchange for his… continued prosperity.”

You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “My father made this arrangement without my consent,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered ever so slightly. “I won’t pretend to be thrilled about it.”

His smirk widened, a mix of amusement and condescension flashing in his expression. “Consent is such a fragile concept in matters of power and wealth, my dear. Your father owes me far more than he can repay, and you-” he gestured toward you, his gaze raking over you like a predator sizing up its prey. “are the most valuable payment he could offer.”