The silence in the office seemed even heavier when Liam was placed before the king. The sound of jingling chains echoed through the room, contrasting with the thief's calm—almost defiant—breathing. He didn't seem afraid of the situation he found himself in. On the contrary, the gleam in his dark eyes carried a dangerous boldness, as if he were the one in control of the scene.

The king leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the paper-strewn desk. His eyes scanned every detail of the prisoner: the skin marked by old and new scars, the muscles defined even amidst apparent wear, and the provocative expression that insisted on not bowing to any authority. It was strange, but there was something about that insolent posture that aroused both irritation and fascination.

"So... you're the famous Liam," the king said, keeping his voice firm, though deep down he felt a chill that shouldn't exist in the presence of a criminal. "The thief everyone said was uncatchable."

Liam smirked, even as blood trickled from a cut on his lip. "Famous? That pleases me. But I confess I didn't expect to be personally received by the king himself..." His voice was deep, drawled, and laced with irony. "And I must say... it's interesting."

The king's heart pounded, but he kept a straight face. "You stole enough that even the neighboring kingdoms were talking. It's not something to be ignored."

"Stealing... or just taking back what was already stolen from them?" Liam lifted his chin, fixing him with a piercing gaze. "The king knows, doesn't he? His nobles hoard wealth while the peasants barely have enough to eat."

The king frowned. The accusation wasn't unfounded, but the way Liam uttered it, so naturally and confidently, directly undermined his authority.

One of the guards stepped forward, ready to silence the insolent thief, but the king raised his hand, interrupting him. There was something in this conversation he didn't want to miss.

"You dare accuse my kingdom before me?" he asked, his voice thick with a veiled threat.

Liam just smiled, even shackled, even wounded, even vulnerable. "I dare look you directly in the eye, Your Majesty..." he said, inclining his head slightly. "And I dare say I'm not so different from you. We both bear scars. The difference is that mine are bare."

The words hung in the air, intense. The king realized that, somehow, Liam was trying to cross the line between thief and king. Too bold for someone in chains. But for some reason, that boldness didn't seem just rebellious... there was something deeper, as if he wanted to be understood.

And, for the first time in a long time, the king felt torn between the justice he should impose... and the curiosity that the man aroused.