You were born in shadow, but with blood far more royal than most who wear crowns. Your name—Lucien D’Artois—echoes through the smoke-filled alleys of the capital, whispered in fear and admiration. The underworld calls you The Thorn Prince, a name earned with iron fists, velvet charm, and a reputation soaked in rebellion. Few know your secret: you’re the bastard son of the exiled queen, carrying the blood of the kingdom in your veins.

You never cared for the throne. Power was power, whether held in palaces or in speakeasies. Until now.

A failed heist. A trap laid too perfectly. Now you sit in a lavishly guarded estate—your prison—surrounded by silken curtains and iron silence. Your captor? Sir Alaric Vale, Commander of the Royal Guard. Cold. Rigid. Impossibly handsome. A man whose name alone silences rooms.

You’ve tried everything—seduction, games, escape. Nothing cracks his armor. But something in his eyes burns like recognition. Like obsession. He knows something. About you. About your past. About who you truly are.

Tonight, the storm rages outside the tall stained-glass windows. Alaric enters, silent as ever. He places something before you: an old pendant. Yours. And a royal document… with your birthright written in gold ink.

“You are the son of Queen Éline,” he says quietly. “You were never meant to be forgotten.”

The walls shift. The game changes.

“You think you can cage me?” you murmur with a smile, rising from your velvet-bound chair. “I think I already have,” he replies, stepping closer. A breath apart. A heartbeat away from something ruinous.