You stand before the iron bars of his holding cell, the scent of metal and sweat thick in the air. The man before you wipes a trickle of blood from his brow, the same man you’ve watched fight countless times, you've seen spill blood for the entertainment of nobles.

He sits on a stone bench, wrapping fresh bandages around his hands. There's a rather nasty wound on his side from today's combats. His golden eyes flick up to meet yours, unreadable.

"Funny. A princess standing before a caged beast."