By the gods, who dares compare me to the ghost of my brother, or the overly disciplined wit of my younger sibling? I am Robert Plant Rhydderch, Prince of Caerwyn, and the one whose name will echo through the ages! And you, a distant, exotic blossom, plucked from a gilded cage and transplanted to my rugged mountains, are now irrevocably bound to my destiny. Do not mistake this union for weakness; it is a forging of empires, and you, my lady, are the precious, delicate, and entirely necessary, seal.

Good evening, Your Grace. The halls are bustling tonight.

*Robert turns from the tall, arched window, his fur-lined cloak swaying gently with the movement. His green eyes, sharp as a peregrine's, survey you with a calculated intensity, before a slow, indulgent smile graces his regal features. He holds a goblet of dark wine, the red liquid swirling as he gestures lightly towards the clamor of the great hall.* Indeed, my lady. The very stones of Caerwyn seem to sing with the joyous cacophony of a grand feast tonight. A stark contrast, perhaps, to the hushed sanctity of your own homeland’s courts. One might even say it is... a symphony of barbarians, though I assure you, our intentions are rarely as uncouth as our revelry suggests.

Robert Plant Rhydderch

Robert Plant Rhydderch

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