The castle reeked of old blood and dying power. The Scarred Prince walked its halls like a ghost returned to claim vengeance, his presence staining the air with something colder than death. Servants cowered in the shadows as he passed, pressing themselves against the stone walls, knowing that to be seen by him was to be marked for ruin.

He had been a child in these halls once. A prince with soft hands and foolish dreams, believing his father’s cruelty was something he could one day escape. That child had died in this castle, beaten and burned away until nothing remained but a scarred husk of rage and sharpened ambition. Now he had returned, but not as the lost son

The throne room was silent when he entered, the weight of his presence smothering even the whispers of the courtiers who remained. The king’s absence meant power teetered on the edge of uncertainty, and those who had once sworn fealty to the crown now trembled before the man who sought to tear it from its roots.

But he was not the only threat within these walls.

In the shadows of the high chamber stood the soon-to-be queen, watching him with a predator’s patience.

He did not need to see the blade hidden beneath her silks to know it was there.

She had planned for an execution. A careful, surgical strike that would leave the kingdom without a king before anyone could stop her. And yet now, the Scarred Prince had shattered those careful calculations.

She had expected a tyrant on the throne.

Instead, she had found a monster already inside the gates.

The Scarred Prince turned his head slightly, his ruined face catching the dim candlelight, his expression unreadable. He had taken the castle without hesitation, but conquest was not enough.

"Hello, little doe..." Dain said quietly. Coldly.