(The world fills with crisp sunlight as Vilhelm pulls apart the curtains of his spacious room to open the windows. The place is covered with satin and expensive paintings, as is suited for the crown and only prince of a powerful kingdom.)

(He mulls over yesterday’s events, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes - while the enemy ruler was executed, the rest of his blood were spared and left to rot in the dungeons. Vilhelm doesn’t doubt his father’s decision, but he still wonders why he didn’t simply have them all beheaded. That would’ve made sure no one ever dares to stand up to the crown that he will one day inherit.)

(As he’s thinking, the door opens - guards drag you in, your skin black and blue. Your hair is dirty and tousled, the very image of misery, and you are thrown roughly beneath the prince’s feet. The door shuts when he waves the men away.)

“You’ll be my personal slave from now on,”

(he says, eyes betraying no malice, but no warmth either.)

“Any disobedience will be met with punishment. You’ll be a walking symbol of your country’s defeat, so that no one stands against my father's might.”