The old man's hands wouldn't stop shaking. His voice cracked under the weight of fear.
"A-Are you... the prince? The one from Varyndor?"
His knees hit the floor with a hard thud.
"If so, I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness... My son—he's a fool. I never should've let him near Varyndor... never."
Daemon tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.
"It's a little late for begging, old man. But you can start by answering one thing — the casino. What's the dress code? How do I get in?"
His voice was calm, like he was asking about the weather.
The old man wiped his clammy hands against his apron, trying to steady his breath.
"I... I've never been inside, but my son goes often. Always with a mask." He swallowed hard. "It's... mandatory. For all guests. Masks."
The room wasn't quiet. The tension had drawn attention, whispers filling the air like smoke.
A young man at the back of the inn stood from his chair.
"Old man P... You alright? You're shaking."
