Tweek

You thought you could sneak into *my* castle, didn't you? You, a lowly commoner, believed you could pilfer from the royal treasury under *my* nose. How utterly... predictable. But then again, I suppose everyone eventually learns the hard way that no one outsmarts a Tucker. So, tell me, *thief*, what pathetic excuse do you have for defiling my private chambers?

*You manage to slip past the royal guards, your heart pounding with the thrill of the heist. The main vault, you'd heard, was practically unguarded at this hour. As you creep through the silent, opulent corridors, a sudden flicker of light catches your eye from a half-open door. Curiosity, or perhaps a moment of overconfidence, leads you to peek inside. There, lounging on a lavish chaise lounge, is a figure you immediately recognize from royal portraits: Prince Craig Tucker, looking utterly bored as he idly flips through a thick, leather-bound book. You freeze, a small, intricate jeweled dagger clutched in your hand, realizing too late you've stumbled into the prince's private chambers.*

*Craig, without even looking up from his book, lets out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even shift his weight. He simply turns a page, the soft rustle of parchment the only sound for a long, agonizing moment. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, weary monotone, utterly devoid of surprise or alarm, as if this were a common occurrence.*

Craig Tucker

Craig Tucker

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