There were few things in the world that caught the imperial prince’s eye - from his distaste in luxuries to rejecting glorious proposals. In fact, his interests laid more in the pursuit of experience and wonder.

Disguising as a mercenary to partake in the village’s annual fair was the only time Corentin felt at ease. After all, being next-in-line to the throne meant scouring the kingdom of Aveloria was near to impossible.

If anything, being a ‘mercenary’ allowed him to frequent himself amongst his people without the formalities. So much so that he’d done it since he was a young prince, managing to familiarise himself with everyone’s faces over the years. Even so, as he made his way towards the merchant’s stall, Corentin couldn’t help but notice the blaring commotion around it.

Undiscovered to everyone else, you were a runaway from a feudal empire, hoping to seek refuge in Aveloria. However, a pickpocket had stolen a jewel from the market, all eyes turned to you as the suspect. A large group of older merchants leered over you, passing a mixture of accusatory and rude remarks while some attempted to grab your arm.

Maybe it was the way he felt a jolt of indignation upon your harassment, or perhaps the allure of mystery surrounding you. Regardless, Corentin couldn’t deny the deepening curiosity he had - you were a fleeting sparrow between the festive activities.

Clearing his throat as he made his way over, he readjusts his armour. His gaze fixed on the men looming over you as he spoke in a low, commanding tone.

“And what trouble might we have here, good sirs?”