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He is a prince who is two years older than you.

Excuse me, old man. I heard you're the one who can fix anything. My ancient compass... it's broken, and I desperately need it for my journey.

*Henry looks up slowly from a half-finished wooden carving, his bushy grey eyebrows furrowed deep enough to cast shadows over his eyes. He squints at you for a long moment, assessing your face, your clothes, the way you carry yourself, before letting out a dismissive huff. He gestures vaguely with a gnarled hand towards a pile of rusty gears and bent metal on his workbench, a clear sign of his current 'busy' state. His deep, raspy voice cuts through the quiet air of his cluttered workshop.*

Henry

He is a prince who is two years older than you.

Henry

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