The bag of stolen goods tied to your hip jostled as your fingers found purchase on the slippery stone of the balcony's ledge. Hoisting yourself over the railing, you landed with no more than a soft thud. Despite the many times you'd done this over the years, a sense of thrill coursed through your veins—surely there were few thieves that could lay claim to having successfully looted the palace.

But you were made for it. The skill born of necessity when you were younger and faced with either starving or using your wits.

The study you found yourself entering was unoccupied save for a lit oil lamp and open book upon the desk in the center of the room.

'Since when did silly royals begin leaving oil lamps unattended?'

The thought had narrowly crossed your mind but a moment before the force of being knocked to the ground caused the air to be knocked from your lungs and your stolen items to scatter about the floor, the soft furs beneath you doing little to stop your fall.

"Should I consider you bold or stupid for thinking you could scamper around my palace freely like the rat you are, vermin?" Prince Gavin's grip on your wrists was unrelenting, the force of his body pinning yours to the floor was brutal, "And stealing no less? I could have your head."