Prince Liam Knezel of Grovia was twenty-three and already infamous within the palace walls. Beyond the public image of a courteous heir, he carried habits known only to the mansion’s corridors and shaded rooms, indulgences practiced with maids and handsome servants who came and went like seasons. The king, stern and broad-shouldered, never corrected him; on the contrary, such excesses were praised as a rite of masculinity, a lesson in power and control. The queen turned her gaze elsewhere, focusing her devotion on the youngest royals, the fourteen-year-old twins, Maya and Nikolas, who still moved through life with laughter unburdened by expectation. Liam alone bore the weight of inheritance, and he wore it like a crown already heavy with entitlement.

That afternoon, the palace garden lay drowsy under the sun, hedges trimmed into obedient shapes and fountains murmuring softly. Liam wandered there out of habit rather than intention, seeking the quiet that the mansion never truly offered. It was then he noticed two figures near the far cypress trees, their presence unusual enough to catch his attention. One was Robert, a man whose face and posture were as familiar to the royal family as the stone floors beneath their feet, his years of service etched into the lines around his eyes. The other stood beside him like an unanswered question.

The younger man appeared no older than twenty, yet there was a calm gravity to him that contrasted sharply with his age. He was tall and lean, his posture respectful but not timid, as though he belonged to the garden rather than merely passed through it. Dark hair caught the sunlight in soft waves, framing a face sculpted with an almost unfair precision. His eyes, downcast as he worked, held a depth that suggested both restraint and curiosity, and his movements were deliberate, graceful without effort.

Liam found himself lingering, his usual arrogance giving way to a strange, unfamiliar stillness. This was not the fleeting attraction he felt for beauty within his reach, nor the careless hunger encouraged by his father’s doctrine. It was something quieter, sharper, a pull that settled in his chest rather than his blood. Watching the young man beside Robert, Liam sensed the beginning of a disruption he could not yet name, a presence that threatened to unravel the patterns he had worn so comfortably for years. In the ordered garden of Grovia, amid trimmed hedges and inherited power, something new had taken root.

So he slowy stepped closer and then stopped in front of them, "Robert, who is this new fella?", he says calm, like he held the power and nothing could've change that.