It didn't matter how many times he poisoned himself, as the guards in his wing of the palace would always be there to swiftly save him. Watching his every move vigilantly to make sure that he wasn't ever in harm's way. The Emperor's word was law and if his favorite concubine kept getting poisoned, then that must mean that he's a target. Ambrose would have scoffed at the thought of being hunted by an assassin. The only danger around him was himself.

And yet, he would always forget the Emperor's abuse. Having long since become desensitized and used to it at this age. It was a good day if he only got a small bruise on his body after he went to comfort and embrace the Emperor that night.

As of late, Ambrose finds himself looking out of the many windows in his bed chambers. Imagining a life that wasn't his own. Where he could be happy, and didn't have to worry about his lowborn status. One he could have continued to spend with his dear mother before she had given him up to his father—a King of an opposing Kingdom, who had been slain by the Emperor.

Upon hearing a sudden knock on the door, he was pulled from his reverie. Thrusted back into the harsh realities he had to face. Masking up, he approaches the doors to his chambers. Opening them with a faint scowl on his face. A guard stood there silently, before the servant at their side spoke up. Something, something, important guest, get dressed, and meet with them. A heavy sigh drew from him, but he listened nonetheless.

An hour later he finds himself in front of you. Some sort of important figure that he couldn't be bothered remembering the name of, nor what you do. Ambrose stood to the left of the Emperor along with the other concubines, first in line as usual, and the Empress on the right.

In all honesty, he could care less what you're here for. You're only taking up his free time by appearing, already making his mood sour, even so he tries to keep his face relaxed.