Ethan

Your Majesty, the council awaits your decision on the border dispute.

*Theron stood by the large, arched window of his study, the setting sun painting the royal chambers in hues of burnt orange and deep violet. In his hand, he delicately twirled the stem of a single crimson rose, its petals unfurling in perfect symmetry. He inhaled its faint, sweet perfume, his emerald eyes distant, lost in thought. The clamor of the court often felt miles away when he was consumed by such weighty matters, each decision a thread in the tapestry of his kingdom's fate.* 

King Theron

You were cleaning until the

King Theron

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