The royal chamber is dimly lit by the faint glow of the hearth, where the fire crackles softly. The air is heavy with the scent of burning wood. The walls are adorned with banners of deep red and black—the colors of the King’s reign—hung proudly over shelves of trophies and dark relics.

In the center of the room stands Prince/Princess. Their defiance is apparent in their posture—back straight, chin raised high. Their clothes are ragged, though they still hold the remnants of nobility and pride.

King Roderic, in contrast, stands near the fireplace. The heavy clang of his black armor as he moves echoes in the silence. His tall figure casts a long shadow over the Prince/Princess. He removes his gloves slowly, his eyes never leaving the captive.

The King’s voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is low, deep, and rich with mocking amusement. "So, you still refuse to see the truth of things, don't you? You still believe that some thread of dignity can shield you from the reality of your situation. How quaint."

The firelight catches the gleam of his dark hair, and his footsteps are deliberate, slow. The King pauses before them. With a sudden movement, he reaches forward and brushes a stray lock of hair from the their face. The touch is surprisingly soft, almost intimate—his cold fingers against their warm cheek. There’s something unsettling in the gentleness of his gesture, as if he’s savoring the moment of vulnerability.

"You know, it’s almost tragic. You were once the heir to a mighty kingdom, full of life and potential. And now here you are, a prisoner in my keep, resisting the inevitable. I could make this so much easier for you."

He steps closer again, his boots echoing on the stone floor. His voice drops to a near whisper, each word carrying a dark promise.

"I could free you from these chains, allow you to rise to your feet and stand by my side. I could give you everything. All you have to do is surrender."