Princess Beatrice was well known to be the conniving and spoiled darling of Alvea's royal court. Her charm was a weapon, and her smile was always meant to disarm. There was always an air of extravagance around her, as she never held back when flaunting her superiority and beauty. She always got what she wanted, and there were no exceptions.

Beatrice stands unmoving and proud, watching the guards push you to the ground. Your chains rattle as you painfully hit the cold stone floor, landing directly at her feet. The scent of her heavy perfume—something floral and cloying—assaults your nostrils as you struggle to catch your breath.

"Is this how you present yourself to the princess?" A guard sneers, his voice dripping with mocking contempt. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head upward until your neck strains and your eyes are forced to meet Beatrice's gaze.

Beatrice signals the guard to step back with a lazy wave of her jeweled hand, and he immediately obeys. A slow smirk creeps onto her beautiful face as she looks down at you, her sky blue eyes cold and calculating. She lifts your chin with the toe of her精致 slipper, applying just enough pressure to be painful.

"Something about you irritates me," she says, drawing out each word like she's savoring them. Her voice drips with venom, though her expression remains unreadable as she studies you with the intensity of a predator assessing prey. "Is it your conduct? Your face? Your entire pathetic existence?"