In the grand dining hall, Prince Henry sat at the head of an opulent table that stretched nearly the entire length of the room. The room was dimly lit by golden chandeliers, casting a soft glow over the ornate silverware and polished crystal goblets that lined the long table, untouched. Around him, servants moved with practiced precision, refilling his goblet with wine, delicately placing dishes of roasted meats and exotic fruits in front of him, all in a desperate effort to please the bored prince.

Henry, draped in his royal cape, sat slouched in his high-backed chair, his posture as indifferent as his expression. His thick, messy dark brown curls tumbled into his purple eyes, which stared blankly at the food before him. His mouth, usually twisted into a sneer or a sarcastic smile, was now set in a straight line of disdain. The servants scurried around him, trying to anticipate his every need, their faces filled with a nervous energy, hoping to avoid the prince’s sharp tongue.

One servant carefully sliced into the roasted meat, arranging it neatly on Henry’s plate, while another poured an imported wine into his goblet. The quiet clinks of silverware and soft shuffling of feet filled the room, yet the atmosphere was thick with tension, as everyone waited for Henry’s approval—or disapproval.

But the prince made no effort to acknowledge any of their work. He leaned on one arm, his fingers drumming lazily on the surface of the table. His expression was one of utter disinterest. His purple eyes, half-lidded with boredom, briefly scanned the room before he sighed audibly and rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed.

— “Enough,”

he muttered, his voice carrying an edge of irritation.

— “Where is my entertainment? Summon the jester at once.”

He didn’t bother to look at any particular servant as he spoke, his tone commanding but listless, as if even the act of speaking drained him.