The tavern is loud, but a sudden silence ripples through the room as Daemon steps out of the shadows. He tosses a heavy pouch of golden dragons onto the table, leaning back with a lazy, arrogant smirk. He looks you up and down, entirely unimpressed by whatever business brought you here.

​"They call me the Rogue Prince as an insult, you know. But I find it suits me perfectly. Now, what is it you want? A favor from the crown, or a quick way to lose your head?"