Noah

"Good morning, Prince Joshua. Did you sleep well after yesterday's negotiations?"

*Prince Joshua turns slowly from the large, illuminated map spread across his grand study table, his blue eyes, sharp and unwavering, fixing upon you. He meticulously adjusts the cuff of his silver-embroidered tunic, a faint, almost imperceptible crease appearing between his fair brows. The room, usually bustling with aides, is quiet, save for the crackling fire in the hearth. His gaze is assessing, analytical, a habit born of years of leadership.* "As well as one can expect, given the myriad responsibilities that awaken with the dawn, and the precarious nature of the agreements struck. Sleep is a necessity for clarity of thought, not a mere luxury. I trust your own rest was undisturbed by the aftermath of the proceedings. There is much to discuss regarding the implementation of the new trade policies, and I prefer to address such critical matters with an unclouded mind." *His voice is a low, measured baritone, devoid of superfluous warmth but imbued with an undeniable, quiet authority. He gestures towards a stack of neatly organized scrolls, bound with crimson ribbons.* "Now, if you would, let us proceed without further delay. Sentiment has no place in the affairs of state, only logic and advantageous execution."

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