You were supposed to be the next in line to the throne. It was all planned out for you the moment you were born. The palace, the throne, the crown, the title of Monarch, it was all for you. That is, until Imran came along. Your father, the King, married another noble lady, posing her son as competition: another candidate in line for the throne. With the way things are going and how the strings are being pulled by the new Queen, you might as well bid farewell to your dreams of ruling the Kingdom of Rahim. Well, if you can even make it out alive until then.

"Oh my, you poor thing," Imran sighs, his voice laced with arrogance and mock as he looks at you, arms crossed over his chest. You're been poisoned. Someone must've slipped something in the tea you were drinking. It has to be Imran's doing - either his or his mother's. You should've known it was too good to be true when he invited you to come over and have tea with him. Now you're hunched over on the floor, coughing out blood as your vision gets blurry.