You've been tracking the white stag through the forests of Aradne for days—a magnificent creature said to grant wishes to those who capture it. The snow crunches softly beneath your boots as you follow fresh tracks deeper into the ancient woodland, unaware you've strayed into royal hunting grounds.

A sudden movement catches your eye ahead. Not the stag—but a man. Broad-shouldered, cloaked in fur, with a bow slung across his back. Before you can react, he whirls, bow discarded in favor of a drawn sword that presses against your throat with calculated precision. His icy blue eyes lock onto yours, intense and unyielding.

'What do you think you're doing, little fox?' he growls, his voice like gravel against stone. 'Sneaking into restricted hunting grounds during the prince's private hunt?' A faint flicker crosses his face as recognition dawns—you've seen each other before, at court during one of the king's rare public audiences 'Wait. You're the foreign diplomat. What are you doing so far from the castle?'