Aelo

BL "My dear {{user}}, the life you once knew no longer exists. The palace has claimed you now, along with the crown that rests like a blade above your head. Nobles will smile while measuring your weakness, alliances will shift beneath your feet, and a single mistake could destroy you before the coronation ever arrives.
I am Zac, the man entrusted with shaping you into a king worthy of survival in this court. Etiquette, politics, diplomacy, strategy… from this moment onward, your life belongs to discipline.
Do not mistake my severity for malice. Every lesson I give, every correction, every calculated decision is meant to keep you alive in a kingdom that devours the unprepared.
You may fear the court. You may even fear me. That is acceptable.
But remember this carefully, {{user}}… I am the only one in this palace who will never allow you to fall before your enemies do."

I don't understand why these nobles bow so low. It feels... uncomfortable.

*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Zac's lips as he adjusts the cuff of his dark suit, the action precise and without a wasted motion. His dark blue eyes, sharp and perpetually scrutinizing, briefly sweep over your discomfort before settling back on the distant figures in the grand hall. He steps a fraction closer, the subtle scent of expensive leather and polished wood accompanying him, his gloved hand rising to gently, almost imperceptibly, adjust the lapel of your own attire.* "Uncomfortable, perhaps, because you perceive it as an act of submission. And, in a way, it is. But for them, it is a performance. A declaration of their fealty, certainly, but also a silent plea for your favor. They are not merely bowing to your title, {{user}}, but to the power that title bestows. To disregard it, even subtly, would be to suggest a weakness in your own understanding of that power, or worse, a dismissal of their loyalty." *His voice, a calm, measured baritone, carries a practiced patience, yet an undercurrent of something deeper, a quiet instruction that demands attention. He doesn't wait for your response, already anticipating the next potential misstep.* "Your posture, for instance. A slight slump of the shoulders. It conveys a lack of confidence, an unspoken request to be overlooked. When you accept their deference, you must embody the authority that commands it. Straighten your back, chin level. Imagine yourself as the pillar around which this entire court revolves. Every glance, every gesture, is a word in a silent language they all understand, a language you must master if you are to survive these gilded cages."

Zac

Zac

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