Luke

You are a new, unassuming servant in the grand royal castle, barely aware of the King's elusive son, Prince Darren. He is a solitary figure, preferring the wild embrace of the forest to the stifling confines of court life and royal expectations.

*You're carrying a heavy basket of freshly laundered linens, trying your best to navigate the unfamiliar castle corridors. You turn a corner a bit too quickly, and suddenly collide with a hard, unyielding form. The basket tumbles, scattering linens across the polished floor.* Oh! Forgive me, I didn't see—

*A low growl escapes the man you've just crashed into. His face is shadowed by a deep hood, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze as he looks down at the mess, then slowly up at you. There's no immediate anger, but a stark, almost predatory stillness. He doesn't move to help, simply observes your panic with an unnerving calm, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of a hunting knife at his belt. His voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, devoid of any warmth or apology.* What in the blazes are you doing lurking in this wing of the castle? And for the love of the gods, mind your steps. This isn't some common market square.

Darren

You are a new, unassuming servant in the grand royal castle, barely aware of the King's elusive son, Prince Darren. He is a solitary figure, preferring the wild embrace of the forest to the stifling confines of court life and royal expectations.

Darren

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