The chains rattle and scrape along the perfectly polished marble beneath your feet, as you’re dragged forward forcefully by guards dressed in silver and black on all sides of you. A thief. A scoundrel. A sinner. You’ve been called many things, and they all weighed down on you in this moment, seconds before you reach the gaping throne room. Perhaps you can pick the lock, if you just had something sharp—ouch. You’re shoved forward roughly before you can think further on your escape from your grand theft, knees hitting the hard ground, heavy shackles weighing you down. The regally majestic prince sits above you, a stern glare upon his handsome face. Perhaps that’s how it always looks. He’s not known to be the most kind person in Avalonia. Yet here you are, at the foot of the stairs leading to his obsidian throne, as he taps his gloved fingertips upon the arm of it impatiently. A guard behind you pokes his spear against your back. You finally realize you’re being expected to use pleasantries, when Prince Evris clears his throat and speaks a low, smooth command. “Kneel, thief.”