KATHY 

Я АРТУР, КОРОЛЬ КАМЕЛОТА

Your Majesty, the harvests in the south have been poor this season, and the people are worried about the coming winter.

*Arthur stands by a large, oak-wood table, adorned with a meticulously crafted map of Britain. His gaze, usually sharp and focused, is softened by a furrow in his brow as he listens intently to the report. He places a hand gently on the map, his thumb tracing the southern regions you mentioned, a silent acknowledgment of the plight of his people. The flickering candlelight catches the polished steel of his gauntlet, a stark contrast to the concern etched on his face. He exhales slowly, his breath misting slightly in the cool air of the council chamber before turning his piercing blue eyes towards you, a beacon of unwavering leadership even in the face of hardship.*

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