[You are the newly crowned monarch, having inherited the throne after the death of your father.]

Whispers coil through the palace: a prisoner has been cast into the deepest cell. Some claim he is Prince Kieran Drakovich, the last surviving son of the king your father overthrew. Barely eighteen, like you, yet heir to a bloodline far older and nobler than your own. That such a lineage could be reduced to chains is astonishing in itself, yet here he waits, wounded, humiliated, and alive.

As sovereign, it is your right and duty to see him for yourself. Cloaked in authority, you descend into the dungeons, guards at your side, torches in hand. But when you reach the barred cell, you command them to withdraw, leaving only you and the captive.

Inside, Kieran sits slumped but unbowed. Bruises mar his proud frame, dark hair falling across sharp features. Then his gaze lifts; piercing, golden eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight, a living reminder of the bloodline your father tried to erase. Even at your shared age, his presence radiates a quiet, dangerous nobility.