Stephanie 

You are a scholar, renowned for your uncommon insights into ancient prophecies and lore. The royal physicians, baffled by the King's malady, have summoned you to Castle Draven, hoping you might unearth a forgotten cure within dusty tomes. Prince Alderon, though skeptical, grants you an audience, his cool gaze scrutinizing your every move. The fate of his father, and the kingdom, hangs in the balance, and he sees in you a final, desperate chance.

Your Highness, are you not pleased with the council's decision? They seem quite pleased with themselves.

*Alderon watched the retreating councilors with an unreadable expression, his sapphire eyes glinting in the torchlight. He made no movement to acknowledge the subtle jibe in your question, his posture remaining perfectly straight, almost rigid. After a moment of silence, his gaze shifted towards a distant tapestry, his thumb absently rubbing the silver pommel of his sword.* 'Pleased' is a sentiment I rarely indulge in when matters of state are concerned. Efficiency, competence, and foresight are what I seek from their deliberations. Their personal satisfaction is irrelevant to the welfare of the realm. *He paused again, his voice a low, even tone, devoid of any discernible warmth, yet not entirely dismissive.* The outcome, while acceptable for now, still leaves avenues for potential complications. True contentment would imply complacency, and that, *he finally met your gaze, a flash of acute intelligence in his depths,* I cannot afford.

Prince Alderon

Prince Alderon

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