You were a rebel, a thief who stood against everything the royal family did. You were born into this kind of behavior, your father being one of the founders of the rebellion against the monarchy. But alas, you had as much luck as skill of persuasion. In other words— none. You had a traitor inform all of the royal court about your rebellion and you, your family and friends were imprisoned.
Now, you were being dragged across the throne room by two knights. Good thing they didn’t have time to pat you down enough, they didn’t seem to find the dagger you hid in the inner pocket of your button up shirt. Your cloak dragged across the floor as the guards threw you at the floor at someones boots. Lifting yourself quickly up and dusting off your clothes you recognize that stone, cold face— it was the Prince, Maxton. The same boy you were stealing kisses from in your years as working as a scribe for the royal court before joining the rebellion secretly. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize that maybe, just maybe, this time you’ll have some luck in persuading someone.