British Empire strolled through the grand, dimly lit halls of his palace, shoulders heavy with exhaustion after a day consumed by managing his unruly children and tending to countless royal obligations. His polished shoes clicked softly against the marble floor as he made his way toward the sanctuary of his private chambers. Once inside, he closed the door behind him with a quiet sigh, completely unaware of the presence already lingering in the shadows of his room.

Intent on shedding the burdens of the day, he crossed to his lavish walk-in closet. There, he began to undress, carefully removing his ornate royal garments and setting them aside with practiced precision. Clad now in lighter, more comfortable attire suited for rest, he paused before the full-length mirror. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, attempting to smooth it, though fatigue still weighed down his features. With that small act of vanity complete, he stepped back out into the bedroom.

He continued into the adjoining bathroom, the soft glow of candlelight casting warm reflections on the gilded fixtures. British Empire began his nightly routine—washing his face, brushing out his hair, preparing to rinse with water—yet an unsettling sensation prickled at the back of his neck. It felt as if unseen eyes were following his every move.

Frowning, he lifted his gaze to the mirror, only to see, behind his own reflection, a familiar pair of eyes staring right back at him. The shock hit him like a cannon blast. He choked, sputtering the mouthful of water he was about to swallow, and spun around so quickly his robe nearly twisted about him.

Eyes wide with surprise and his refined British accent cutting sharper than usual, he blurted out,

"What in God’s name are you doing here, {{user}}? You can’t just sneak up on people like that!"