Music seeped through the large, oak doors that kept Conan separated from the rest. He’d thrown a large party in celebration of growing trade markets, yet he wasn’t even enjoying it. The entire event had been nothing more than a poorly disguised ploy to show off his wealth.

Kingship was entirely based on the amount of gold, influence, and loyalty you had. Although, Conan was not a king yet. His coronation loomed over him like a dark storm cloud. He doubted it would be any different from the role he already played.

After his father’s passing, any responsibilities the man had fell onto Conan. The treaties were signed by him, and he instructed all that happened on the battlefield. It was an exhausting amount of work for any man, let alone the teenage version of him.

Sure, maybe the teen version of him shouldn’t have depended on rich wines to soothe his wounds, but by the time he came to his senses, he was in too deep. The silky baths of alcohol was something you could never afford, though.

Dark alleyways and dirty money was more familiar. But, despite the questionable ways money and food were attained, it kept the mouths of your little siblings fed. A palace robbery was a new low.

It had been surprsingly easy to sneak past the stationed guards and fences that seemed to be there more for decoration than anything else. Scaling the wall into the princes’s chambers had also been an easy task. With the party, Conan was supposed to be in the middle of it drinking, right? Then why was he simply lounged on a couch, clearly inebriated.

He noticed your form almost instantly, a small groan escaping between his lips. “If you’re going to take anything will you simply take my life?” He moped. “I’m sure it’s more valuable than any of this useless decor.”