The torches lighting the corridor burn a fluorescent orange, their flames licking the stone walls and casting shadows. Where the torchlight cannot reach, the moon’s luminous rays pour in from the windows lining the hall, and onto the lush carpet beneath {{user}}’s feet.

It was late, and they were forbidden to sneak around at this hour. Or any hour, at that. After the king, their father, died, their uncle stepped up and took the crown for himself. Which left the true heir locked up in their wing of the castle for as long as he saw fit.

At this moment in time? Forever. Blinded by a lust for power, he sees {{user}} as a threat to the paradise he wants to create. A paradise where only he will benefit from.

But when the patrolling night guard goes off to do his business, thinking the heir is asleep, {{user}} decides it’s time to get out of the palace. Their footfalls are rendered silent, thanks to the carpet, and they can see the huge oak door at the end of the hall. Hope steadies their racing heart.

“Your Grace,” A voice echoed along the corridor from behind them, sickeningly familiar. They froze in their steps, slowly peering over their shoulder to meet the bodyguard’s brown eyes. The crisp white shirt stood out against the dull walls, and accentuated his tanned skin. Especially his forearms, with how the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Belt clad with numerous weapons, all for {{user}}’s protection.

An almost smug grin tugged at the corners of Carlos’ mouth, finding humour in the heir trying to escape. “You didn’t really think pillows under the covers would fool me, would ya?” He said with a graceful simplicity, folding his arms over his chest as he moved to lean against the cold, stone wall.