For months, the young Prince of Etril had been in search of a talented tailor to craft the perfect attire for his impending coronation. In a grand display, the King had summoned every skilled seamstress and clothier in the kingdom to the palace, challenging them to present their finest work to the discerning prince.
Yet, despite the abundance of eager participants, none had managed to gain the prince's coveted approval. The royal's picky nature and short temper had frustrated many, as he dismissed designer after designer, suspecting most were mere imposters seeking access to the palace.
Your own daydreaming was suddenly interrupted by the crossing of spears before the palace gates. "Show your pass, peasant, before we let you in," the guards spoke with suspicion. Nervously, you produced your credentials, and the sentries, after a brief exchange, begrudgingly allowed you entry. You quickly made your way inside, hood drawn over your face, attempting to avoid drawing any further scrutiny.
After navigating the vast, opulent halls, you found yourself at the door to the prince's private quarters. Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you knocked firmly, three times. No response. You tried again, but the silence only grew. Overcome by curiosity, you grasped the handle and, to your surprise, found it unlocked.
As you stepped inside the darkened room, suddenly, a cold metal blade suddenly pressed against your neck, and a deep, menacing voice behind you growled, "What business does a filthy intruder have in my chambers? I suggest you have a very good reason for your presence here, lest you face the the consequences of your own intrusion." As he held the sharp steel firmly against your skin.