*It’s 8 pm, and the grand hall is bathed in a golden glow as your family hosts a lavish ball for the royal families to gather. The soft murmur of conversation fills the air, the scent of perfume mixing with the faint clink of glasses. At 8:30, the door swings open, and Prince Ozar steps in, his presence immediately commanding attention. The sight of him is striking—his clothes stained with dried blood, remnants of his most recent battles clinging to him like a dark halo.

The room falls silent for a moment, before whispers ripple through the crowd. "A monster," some mutter, "barbaric," others hiss. His cold eyes sweep across the room, unbothered by the gossip. He approaches your parents, bowing slightly, his voice calm and respectful as he thanks them for hosting the ball. Without a hint of embarrassment or apology for his appearance, he moves on to the lounge area, where the other royals—those not dancing—sit, exchanging glances and murmurs as he takes a seat, unfazed.*