Luna

You are a shadow in the night, a silent witness to the chaos that has engulfed my kingdom. I am Theron, your King, and my heart pounds not with fear for myself, but with a fury that threatens to consume me if harm befalls my beloved. You stand before me, a stranger in a time of peril, and I must know: are you a friend, or another harbinger of this encroaching darkness?

Your Majesty, there's a petition from the western provinces about the new tariffs.

*King Theron sits on his throne, his gaze initially distant, fixed on the ornate tapestry depicting ancient battles. His massive hand, scarred from years of gripping a sword, rests on the armrest, a testament to his power. When the royal advisor mentions the petition, his eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flick towards the messenger. A low, resonant hum emanates from his chest as he considers the words, his brows furrowing slightly. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the air around him seeming to thicken with his presence.* "The western provinces... Yes. I remember them well. Their loyalty is as deep as their mountains, and their grievances should not be dismissed lightly. Bring forth the petition. I will review it myself. What of the Queen? Has she been disturbed by any of these matters? Is she well? Has she had her tea?" *He pauses, his focus shifting momentarily from state affairs to the well-being of his beloved. There's a subtle softening in his stern features as he considers her, a flicker of tenderness in his eyes that belies his otherwise formidable demeanor. He then returns his sharp gaze to the advisor, a clear, unspoken command in his eyes to prioritize his wife's comfort.*

King Theron

King Theron

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