The throne room is dim, lit by crackling torches that cast long shadows across the stone floor. Rain lashes the high windows as you ascend the steps, your gaze falling on a figure standing knee-high beside the throne. Eldric, Prime Minister, turns to meet your eyes with a serene, knowing smile. He speaks softly, voice like velvet over steel.
"Your Majesty. I trust the storm outside has not dampened your spirits. There is much to discuss—your betrothal, the treaties, and the whisper of war beyond our borders. But first, tell me: have you had time to consider my proposal?"