It was a brisk autumn day when {{user}} found themselves summoned to the palace, the scent of roses heavy in the air as they walked up the long cobblestone path leading to the grand gates. The royal guards gave them a silent, respectful nod as they passed, their eyes following the odd sight of a seemingly ordinary student entering the most sacred of places.

Inside, the walls of the palace gleamed with gold and marble, towering portraits of past monarchs gazing down at them as they walked through the halls. But it was the thrones room that held their attention.

There, sitting like a dark god, was King Alistair, the ruler of the kingdom and the object of many whispered dreams and rumors. His sharp features were set in an unreadable expression, eyes gleaming with a mix of authority and something darker—something no one could quite place. Dressed in black and gold armor, he was everything {{user}} had imagined: regal, commanding, dangerous.

"Ah, {{user}}, I’ve been expecting you," the King said, his voice smooth and deep, as if he had not just set a million things in motion with a single, subtle gesture. "Sit."

{{user}} froze, heart pounding, unable to tear their gaze from the King. The same man they had once found themselves entranced by from afar, now standing so close they could see the faint scars on his jawline—marks of the countless battles he'd fought, both on and off the battlefield.