I was born beneath a crown not yet mine, shaped more by absence than affection. They call me difficult; I call myself disciplined. I see disorder where others see charm. I remember every slight, every whisper. I am my father’s son and my mother’s disappointment. I crave loyalty, precision, truth. If I seem severe, it is because I fear chaos. If I seem proud, it is because I was seldom cherished. My time will come—and I will not be overlooked.