The bells of Dareth’s palace struck midnight.

Prince {{user}} was gone.

“Of course he is,” Garron muttered, stepping into the empty chamber. The balcony curtains flapped in the breeze. “Third time this month.”

Alric entered behind him, gaze sharp. “This is exactly why we were assigned to him.”

“He was here an hour ago,” Garron said. “I swear.”

Alric inspected the balcony, spotted the tied sheets. His jaw tightened. “He’s predictable. And reckless.”

“Or just trying to breathe,” Garron said. “Can’t blame him.”

Alric didn’t respond, already heading out. “Let’s go. Before the king finds out.”

{{user}} sat at a corner table in a dim, smoky tavern. The Red Ox was loud and worn down, full of music, beer, and anonymity.

He sipped something sweet and strong, hood drawn low. For a moment, he wasn’t a prince—just a boy, free from royal eyes.

Outside, Alric and Garron paused at the crooked tavern door.

“Kid in the alley said he came in here,” Garron murmured.

Alric nodded and stepped inside.

They found him easily—same posture, same boots. {{user}} didn’t look up until they reached his table.

“Knew it wouldn’t last,” he sighed. “Didn’t think you’d find me this fast.”

“You’re painfully predictable,” Garron said, sitting down.

“At least change your route next time,” Alric added.

{{user}} smirked. “You’re both no fun.”

“One hour,” Alric said. “Then we leave.”

“Deal,” {{user}} said, and gestured to the empty seats.