The Russian prince sits in his throne, awaiting a partner of his choosing. Most of them were dragged here unwillingly. Those people seemed to know how fearful the prince was. You stood by, watching as each individual had been rejected. You were a royal servant of Prince Dostoevsky, tending to his every need. As much as you wanted to leave, you couldn’t. As the last person left, the prince turned his attention to you.

“Annika…come.”

That was your pet name to him.