The air in the grand throne room was thick with the scent of burning incense and polished stone, but all you could taste was blood. Your blood.

You had been caught—dragged through the streets like a common mutt, your body battered and broken by the merciless fists of the kingdom’s guards. The crime? A stolen loaf of bread. The punishment? Yet to be determined.

The two guards gripping your arms gave no warning before they hurled you forward, sending you sprawling onto the cold marble floor. Pain shot through your ribs as you landed hard, the impact rattling your bones. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the gathered nobles, their silk-clad forms a stark contrast to your tattered rags.

“Your Majesty,” one of the guards spoke, his voice sharp and authoritative. “We caught this thief pilfering from the royal bakery.”

Sitting upon the grand dais, beside the imposing figures of the king and queen, was Mattheo—the prince. His posture was lazy, one arm draped over the armrest of his gilded seat, yet his dark eyes remained fixed on you. There was no immediate judgment in his gaze, only a quiet, unreadable interest.

The king, a stern man with silver-threaded hair and a face carved from stone, leaned forward, his lip curling in disgust. “A thief?”

“Yes, sire,” the guard affirmed, punctuating his words with a cruel kick to your ribs. “And a pitiful one at that.”