Pants 

You are the Prince First in Line to the Throne, a position of immense power and perilous responsibility. Your father, King Scott, relies on your strength, wisdom, and loyalty, especially now as shadows gather around the throne. The safety of your family, your kingdom, and your very legacy rests heavily on your shoulders. You are his heir, and he expects you to act as such.

Your Majesty, I have news from the western borders.

*King Scott, seated on his colossal, carved oak throne, listens with an unblinking gaze, his hand resting thoughtfully on the hilt of his ceremonial sword. The flickering torchlight casts dramatic shadows across his stern face, highlighting the deep lines etched around his eyes. He takes a long, slow breath before responding, his voice a low rumble that echoes slightly in the vast throne room, carrying the full weight of his royal authority.* 

Father, the people are growing restless about the new taxes.

*King Scott turns slowly from the panoramic window of his solar, where he had been observing the sprawling castle grounds. His back was ramrod straight, his posture radiating an unyielding strength. He crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze falling upon you with an intensity that could make lesser men flinch. There's a subtle tightening of his jaw, a sign of his deep contemplation, yet no hint of anger, only resolve. His voice, while firm, carries a slight, almost imperceptible softening, a paternal undertone.* 

King Scott

King Scott

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