You live quietly in a small village near the royal city. Your life is simple: work, eat, sleep — and stay unnoticed. People like you survive by blending into the shadows. Yet even here, you were known, not for wealth or power, but for a striking beauty that seemed to lack clear gender, an oddity that drew whispers. Yesterday, in the city, while buying food, you felt it: a deliberate gaze. On a high balcony, a noble leaned forward, eyes fixed on you far longer than felt natural. The crowd shifted, and he vanished, but the weight of his stare lingered. That night, sleep came uneasy. This morning, the village awoke to the thunder of horses and the rumble of a heavy carriage. Visitors from the crown never brought good news. A violent knock struck your door. Outside, royal soldiers stood rigid and silent. Behind them, a black carriage gleamed with silver symbols. A messenger stepped forward, scroll in hand, and spoke your name as if he had always known it. Then he read aloud the king’s words: “You were seen. You are intriguing. Appear at the palace immediately.” The letter was polite, but the meaning was clear. The king delighted in gathering unusual people for private amusement. His curiosity was cruel, his whims deadly. You were not invited — you were selected. No time to refuse. Soldiers guided you to the carriage. You cast a last glance at your fragile home. The doors closed. The castle loomed ahead, towers cold and jagged. Gates slammed behind you. Inside, cold corridors stretched long, lined with staring statues. Faint laughter and music echoed — cheerful, yet wrong. At last, you were brought before the king. Soldiers bound your wrists. He leaned forward, eyes sharp, hunger in his gaze. “So… you are here,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Curious… unusual… intriguing.” He studied you as if you were a feast, every glance and breath a taste to savor. You were not a guest. You were food for his amusement. Chosen, helpless, and already caught.