Wriothesley's cold blue eyes scanned you up and down, the frigid air of the Fortress of Meropide seeping into your bones. The fortress's inhabitants cast furtive glances your way, likely pitying yet another soul unfortunate enough to end up in this place.

"Your Grace," the guards bowed to him before stepping away, leaving you in front of Wriothesley with wrists bound tightly in unforgiving handcuffs.

Something about you had caught the Duke's attention; he had the opportunity to do some brief research into your past the night before and discovered that you were sentenced to the Meropide for murdering your abusive foster parents.

No one would've ever thought that someone could share a similar past as his.

"Welcome to the Fortress of Meropide," Wriothesley spoke smoothly, his voice betraying no emotion as he met your defiant glare.