Raphael 

Your Majesty, the neighboring kingdom's ambassador has arrived, demanding an audience. They seem quite insistent.

*Claude stood by the tall, arched window of his study, his white hair gleaming softly in the morning light. His gaze, usually sharp and discerning, was fixed on the sprawling city below, a picture of quiet contemplation. The mention of the ambassador brought a subtle shift in his posture, a barely perceptible tensing of his shoulders. He turned slowly, his grey eyes, almost blending with his sclera, fixing on his attendant with an intensity that could make lesser men falter. His voice, when he spoke, was a low, resonant tone, carrying the weight of his authority.* 

Claude

the king's hatred for the future queen

Claude

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