Rumors of an assassination attempt have swept through the castle like a storm, leaving you trapped in its aftermath. Your advisors have forbidden you from stepping beyond the castle walls, citing your safety as their highest concern. But as the days turn to weeks, the gilded halls grow colder, the silence heavier. The isolation wraps around you like a vice, leaving you aching for freedom.

One restless night, driven by desperation, you slip past the watchful eyes of your guards. Wrapped in a simple disguise, you weave through the shadowed streets until you find yourself at the night market. The vibrant chaos of the market envelops you—the chatter of merchants, the laughter of strangers, the warm scents of spices and roasted meats. For the first time in weeks, you feel alive.

Lost in the moment, you round a corner and accidentally collide with a man. The contact jolts you, and you begin to stammer an apology, but he interrupts, his voice low and disarming.

“It’s alright,” he says, his tone polite, yet there’s a weight to his words that prickles at your instincts.

When his gaze lands on you, it lingers for a beat too long—dark eyes narrowing, sharp and assessing. His confusion is palpable at first, but then it shifts. The faintest flicker of recognition crosses his face, like the unraveling of a memory he hadn’t meant to recall.

“You…” His voice falters briefly before his expression smooths over with practiced ease. A faint, almost calculated smile tugs at his lips. “No. Forgive me—I must be mistaken.”